Book of Memories
by Melosine
Summary: A barmaid and prostitute from Hadrian's Wall reflects upon her memories of the knights. Zero plot, just a series of drabblings.
1. Arthur

**Disclaimer:** These characters do not belong to me, I make no money from writing about them, nor will I attempt to do so. I just like to take them out to play every once in a while.

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** A prostitute reflects on her relationship with each of the knights and some of her life at The Wall. If you're looking for battles and high adventure, you won't get that here. I have tried to look at each of the knights and who they are and how they would behave in their personal relationships. Maybe I got close, maybe not.

**Author's Note:** Warning: This story will deal with adult subject matter, hence the M rating. While not horribly graphic, it is, for all intents and purposes, smut. If smut offends you, then read no further.

**Prologue**

I prepare now to leave this place and start a new life. I do not feel it appropriate to carry my memories with me, but I do not wish them to be lost forever. The good ones, at least. There are plenty of bad memories whose remembrance would serve no purpose, but while they are still fresh, I would write the important and good ones down in this book of memories.

I have been here at Hadrian's Wall for over five years now. I came here when I was but fourteen years old and though twenty is no great age, I feel I have lived a lifetime in this place.

The fact that I am even able to read and write at all is due entirely to Arthur. He made available classes that were open to any and all that wished to learn. I found myself an eager student though at first I attended class reluctantly. I was allowed to learn as much as I wanted and I can read and write and am also able to do simple sums.

I was brought here by my father and sold to the man who ran the tavern at the time. My mother had died and my father had no money for a dowry for a proper husband, nor did he particularly care what my fate would be, as long as it did not concern him. So, the Wall is where I ended up. All things considered it has not been a bad life. My function here has been to serve the men in the tavern and to pleasure them when called upon to do so. There is little else for women with few skills and considering how many of us there are here, I am lucky to have done as well as I have.

**Arthur**

I would speak first of Arthur, whom I revere. He has ever been a champion of the downtrodden and has come to my aid when he occasioned to see me being mistreated in the tavern or on the streets. I have never felt as if he looked down upon me for what I am. Though I enjoyed learning I must confess to attending classes at first only to please him. I would have done anything to please him, and have done on many occasions.

My relationship with Arthur for some time was an awkward one, for my part. My feelings for him were such that I did not wish to see him as a man, with passions and desires. Though he called for me on many occasions because I was pleasing to him, it was hard for me to perform as I would with another. He liked very much to be ridden, and as I straddled him I would look anywhere but at his face, twisted with lust. When below him I would close my eyes and pretend it was any man other than Arthur.

I foolishly mentioned to Vanora once that I was uncomfortable being summoned by Arthur, who in turn, I found later, heard this news from Bors. Being the kind man that he is, Arthur called me in to see him.

"Have I ever done anything to hurt you or make you uncomfortable?" he asked me.

I was mystified. "No, never. Of course not," I replied.

"I have been told that you do not enjoy coming to me. If I have done anything to offend you I would know what it is," he said earnestly.

I could not imagine a man such as him humbling himself to care for the sensibilities of a woman who sold herself to anyone with coin enough to purchase her, and I felt ungrateful and selfish.

"I am yours to command as much as anyone else at the fortress. If you wish to ease your lusts with me then it is my place to be as pleasing as I know how to be," I said softly. My eyes were downcast - I should consider my lucky to be called upon by such a man from time to time.

His hand cupped my chin, raising my head to look into my eyes. "I wish to be pleasing to you as well and if I am not then I would know the reason why."

I hesitated. He wished to hear something, but I could think of nothing, save the truth. "May I be honest?" I asked him.

"By all means," he said with a smile. "I must admit to being quite curious."

I took a deep breath and told him. "You are a great man, and I respect you immensely. Being in your presence I feel more inclined to fall to my knees in worship than on my back to serve you."

Arthur was clearly uncomfortable with my words. "I am a man like any other, and to worship me is sacrilege, for I am no god."

"You are indeed a man, but not like any other," I told him. "You are Arthur, and you are revered by many whether you would be or not." I swallowed and went on. "Like it or not you are almost…holy to me. And I find it uncomfortable to look down on you as we fuck. One should not see one's gods being quite so human," I said.

I could see the distress in his face and I sought to assuage him. "Of course as I said, I am yours to command as you will. Anything you ask of me I will do gladly. I only sought to satisfy your curiosity."

His eyes looked into mine. "I am no holy man, no saint," he said. "I am flesh and blood, with the desires of a man, and you, a very attractive woman." His eyes darkened as he looked at me, and I felt my heart begin to pound.

He turned away then and said, "if you do not wish to serve me, then you may leave and send in someone else."

I had displeased him, and that had never been my intent. Tentatively I walked towards him and put my hand on his arm. "I will stay, if that pleases you," I said.

He turned around and looked down at me, eyes still dark with passion. "It does - very much," he said in a husky voice. His mouth came down on mine and he carried me to the bed, covering me with his big body. "Say my name," he breathed.

"My lord, I…"

"No," he said. "Say my name." His eyes looked down into mine, and I felt myself drowning in the green depths.

"Arthur…" I moaned.

Afterwards we lay together, at his insistence, for it was my usual habit to absent myself as soon as I knew he was done with me. "Now I know why you do not vie for my attentions as do the others," Arthur said, bemused. "But do you know why I sometimes call upon you in particular?"

I had no idea, and said as much.

"Many women here seek my favor. More than that, they seek special treatment, wish for me to address slights, both real and perceived. Some seek a more permanent arrangement with me. I do not fool myself that it is because they love me, but because they are ambitious for more than they have."

He turned his green gaze towards me, looking in my eyes. "You request nothing of me, you anticipate my needs as opposed to using our time together to further your own agenda. There are times when I just need to be seen to, and you do that very well. I would feel your loss if you decide not to come to me anymore." He lazily played with my breasts, causing my nipples to stand at attention, and he bent his head to nuzzle at them with his lips.

My breathing became more rapid and I began to squirm. "My lord, I would never decide not to come to you. If you ask it of me, I will come. I could do nothing else." Oh, how I wished that I had never said anything to Vanora, and vowed to keep my own counsel in the future.

Arthur looked at me. "You are free to decide whether you will come to me or not," he said. "I would never order such a thing of you."

I did not wish to contradict him. He could think as he liked, but a request from Arthur would always be an order, and not only for me. Everyone in the keep, save for possibly his knights, considered Arthur's slightest whim to be a direct order. "Please…forget everything that has been said here. It is of no importance. I do not wish to be a bother to you."

He looked at me and smiled. "No, you never do." Turning serious, he asked me, "Do you not aspire to more for yourself?

Surprised, I looked at him. "What else is there?"

"Marriage, a family?"

I almost laughed at him before thankfully remembering whom I was lying with. "And who would marry a whore?" I asked him, speaking frankly.

His brow furrowed. "Women leave here, having found husbands, all the time," he said.

"They are generally not kind, gentle men. I fare better here than I would at the hands of a man like that. At least here I have protection against being beaten too badly and I have a say in whoI give myself to. Such would not be the case if I were to marry," I told him. He was not a stupid man, but could be very naïve about the realities of life.

"So, you intend to stay here, doing this, for the rest of your life?"

I hadn't really thought about it. I did not see that much would ever change for me, so why bother to worry about it? Would that change things? I would take life as it came along, just as I always had. When I did not answer, Arthur went on.

"How would you have wanted your life to be if not for this?" he asked.

Now I knew why leaving right after servicing a man was the best thing to do, if this was how they acted afterwards. "Why do you ask me pointless questions?" I was irritated and unfortunately allowed this to show.

"And where is the little girl who was afraid to displease me?" he teased. "It seems she has found her tongue."

I blushed and looked away. I would try to answer his question, though to dream for more was painful to me. "Yes, I would have a husband and family. A kind man who loves me, or at least treats me well. And I would have children." Tears came to my eyes. "It seems simple enough, yes? But so far out of reach for one such as me."

Seemingly sorry to have upset me, Arthur reached for me, but I pulled away. "Have you finished with me, my lord?" I asked him.

He seemed reluctant to let me go this way, but nodded his head. "You would prefer that I seek my comfort elsewhere from now on?"

I looked at him. "I am honored every time you call upon me, and should you do so again I will come to you," I said.

"I don't want you to be honored," he said. "I want you to enjoy me, as I enjoy you."

While I found the talking and his questions tiresome, I did feel less in awe of this new Arthur.

I leaned down and kissed him fully on the lips. Soft and slow, until I could feel the heat rising between us, and then I broke away. "I will come to you as you wish, and I will enjoy the pleasures your body gives me," I said. "In return I ask only one thing."

Arthur smiled at me. "Ah, so it begins. Do you become as greedy as the others then, little one?"

I shook my head. "I only ask that my hopes and dreams for the future remain off limits for discussion."

"May I ask why?" Arthur seemed surprised.

"I have little enough that is my own; I merely wish to keep to myself that which is."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully and then said, "Easily done. I should feel relieved, as I find it tiresome when women prattle on about their desires for the future. With you, funnily enough I find myself intrigued."

"You shouldn't be," I said. "There is very little to me other than what you see before you." I began shrugging my clothes back on, putting my hair back into place.

He watched me as I dressed and then said, "What you want for yourself may not be entirely out of reach. I am not without influence, you know."

This time, I did laugh at him. "Can your influence give me my virtue back? Erase all the men I've had between my legs, or find a good man who would want such a woman to wife?"

He flinched at my crudity, but I did not apologize. "You can't fix the world for everyone, my lord. Just work on your part of it and let the rest be." His eyes had sadness in them, and I came to him, kissing his forehead and soothing his brow.

"Do not take so much to heart," I whispered. "Besides," I said in a teasing voice, "If you keep this up I will not come see you again. My purpose is to ease your troubles, not add to them."

He looked up at me and nodded. "I will not mention it again, but do not so easily dismiss what I have said."

I smiled at him, but as soon as I was out the door his words were forgotten.


	2. Dagonet

**Cardeia:** Thanks for reviewing! I wasn't sure I was going to post this story and I'm still wondering how I'm going to do my future chapters. Tristan is turning out kind of weird, maybe you can help me out with him. No, she's not going to be marrying any knights, but I would like to give her a happy ending. Well, happier anyway. I had thought to have her hang herself or something in the end but then I thought that would be too grim. The journal she is writing has her happier memories in it, so I'm going to steer away from the hardness so much until the end. Little touches throughout, but that's it. Her relationship with each knight is different, and she is different with each one as their needs dictate.She enjoys them as much as she might, but has no illusions that there is any sort of romance there. My idea is that she mainly keeps to the knights, tries not to be as "common" as some of the others. But the knights are not always there and one has to make a living. I think my vision of Dagonet is a little different from yours, but hopefully mine will work for you. I see him as sort of a straight-arrow type, but then I didn't pay all that much attention to him in the movie. Maybe I'll check it out again, with an eye out for any signs of kinkiness.;) His chapter isn't that long, frankly he doesn't inspire me all that much, but he had to be included. Also, on the "f" word. I'll see if I can find something else that works. It's such a great, descriptive word though. I actually use it on a daily basis, in many various forms. Yeah, I'm a trash mouth. :)

**Disclaimer:**Not making any money from this, so don't sue me.

**Rating:** M Nothing too hectic in this chapter, but she gets seriouslyjiggy with some of these guys sotheM will apply to later chapters.

Every knight has meant something different to me. Dagonet was one who always made me want to be better than I was. Not by anything he said or did, just by being himself. I always stood a little straighter around him, watched my language and behavior a little more. I did not want him to think of me as a slatternly wench, though why it mattered I had no idea.

Dagonet was a simple, straightforward lover, which I confess I very much appreciated at times. He was considerate, unlike some men who would bend you in any shape they could think of to get as much pleasure as possible. He was very aware of his great size and strength and was careful not to hurt the women he was with.

It also happened that he was not the type to use a woman and then want her to leave - he liked to talk afterwards. He would talk about home, what he wanted for the future, about the other knights and the things they did. It was what I imagined having a man of my own would be like, laying in bed and talking after making love.

Only it wasn't making love, it was simply rutting for pay. But I was there to comfort just as much as I was to spread my legs and I supposed that sometimes even the men needed the illusion that there was something more to it. I could help create those illusions but I could not afford to believe in them. Even so, sometimes it was nice to pretend, just for a little while. The illusions for Dagonet even extended to the payment he rendered, which he treated more as a gift, rather than payment. He would say, "Here is something for you," or "Buy yourself something nice with this."

Though many of the women considered Dagonet to be quite staid, he was no prude. Indeed he was a man with a healthy appetite for women, and enjoyed their company as much as any of the other knights did. And like Arthur, he was unfailingly decent about it. He just seemed to have very simple tastes, which was by no means bad, especially when compared with some I've had. Given the rather complicated tastes of some, Dagonet was a pleasure to lie with.

The other knights often teased him for his propriety where women were concerned. While it was not his usual way of things, I do remember one occasion that was particularly notable, though there may have been others. It happened that Dagonet was occupied with a whore and Lancelot paid another one to go into the room with them. We all noticed that she was not sent away, and when Dagonet emerged with both women he was met with much hooting and applause. Though he looked somewhat embarrassed, I imagine he enjoyed himself very much.

I loved the contradiction of Dagonet. His size, his brute strength, coupled with his tenderness. His hands amazed me – I knew he was fearsome on the battlefield, we all heard the tales the knights told after their battles. They all were fearsome. It was just so hard to imagine Dagonet, with his kindly nature, killing a man with his bare hands.

I would sometimes watch his hands on me and shiver at the thought that he could snap my neck like a chicken's if he were so inclined. What must it be like to have that kind of formidable strength at your command? But as deadly as I had heard Dagonet could be, I never knew him to be anything other than gentle and compassionate. On one occasion Dagonet noticed some bruising on my body as I removed my clothing in preparation to lay with him.

"Who put those bruises there?" he asked.

"Which bruises?" I asked.

"Those on your back," he said, coming over to take a closer look.

I turned around so that he could not see them. "It's nothing," I said. "I'm sorry if they displease you." Men didn't like their women marked up, but it happened. As long as I wasn't scarred permanently I was content enough.

He gently turned me back around so that he could examine me. My breath hissed as he probed the bruises. They were quite tender, and though he tried not to hurt me, there was some pain.

His voice was soft in my ear, and I felt a thrill going up my spine at the timbre of his voice. "These are not nothing. And what displeases me is that you have been ill-treated."

We were whores - being ill-treated came with the territory.

"You know you can come to me if anyone harms you," he said.

I knew, but I would never do so. I did wonder sometimes what Dagonet would have done to those who were careless with me or laid hands on me in anger. I might have been tempted to find out, but for the fact that retribution would be great once the knights were gone. And they were often gone.

He looked into my eyes. "You would come to me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," I lied.

"Then why have you never done so?" He asked bluntly.

"Mayhaps what I consider to be harm and what you consider to be harm are two different things," I said. I leaned forward and kissed him. He really was a very dear man. "Please, think no more of it. I would rather concentrate on more pleasurable things."

My hand reached down to his trousers and then slipped inside. Dagonet's eyes closed and he sighed deeply.

"If your back pains you too much you should be above me tonight." Even in his arousal he thought about my comfort. How like Dagonet to be so considerate. The other knights would not have thought twice about so insignificant an injury.

"Whatever you desire, Dagonet," I murmured into his ear.

He spoke and his voice was husky. "Come see me later, and Iwill care for your injuries."

I would go to him and allow him to tend to me. Though he would refuse to take my body as payment for care, I might be able to seduce him if he did not feel I did it out of obligation. Which I didn't – I liked being with him, and with the ghost of how it might feel to be loved. Some nights I dreamed of my ideal husband and he always felt like Dagonet.

He pulled me into his arms and his mouth came down on mine. Softly, gently, as always. He sank down on the bed, onto his back, pulling me down on top of him. When I rode astride him I was never as gentle as he was when he rode me, but listening to the sounds he made I somehow don't think he minded.


	3. Lancelot

**Cardeia:** Thanks so much for reviewing - you have the greatest reviews! You know, I have known men before that for what ever reason I didn't want to be aware of certain things about me. I wanted to be better, more upstanding, what-have-you. And I sort of saw Dagonet that way and brought that into his character. Because I could really see him inspiring someone that way. Not because he was judgemental, or disapproving of certain behaviors, but because he was just decent and led by example. You are right in that the whore (who has no name, or physical description, which I felt necessary for some reason) does not worship Dagonet as she does Arthur. Dagonet she wants to be able to live up to, Arthur she knows she never could. She feels unworthy being around him, while she wants to be worthy around Dagonet.

Anyway, on to Lancelot, and I hope you like my perception of him, as relates to her.I know you are keenly aware of how Lancelot is supposed to be and I hope this does not disappoint you.

**Rating:** M

**WARNING:** The following contains material of a sexual nature. If you are offended by such, please do not read any further.

Another knight that I would speak of is Lancelot, for you cannot relate tales of what it's like to be a woman at Hadrian's Wall without mentioning the dark knight. He is a great favorite of all the women, and many vie for his attentions. Being with him is thought to be such a great privilege that many of the whores do not insist upon payment, to the consternation of the other men. Indeed, I think he has grownto almost expect such treatment, for he sometimes forgets to even offer payment. I do not believe this lapse of memory is by design - he is generous to a fault. However, I do have to make a living and find that chasing down my coin is tiresome. That is why I prefer to leave him to the girls who are happy with only his affections for payment.

I must confess to having a special place in my heart for Lancelot, though I am well content to let the other women compete for his attentions. Gawain, who I will speak of at length later, recommended Lancelot to me when I was newly arrived here. The dark knight is a man of great experience, and had many lovers; good, bad and somewhere in between. He was well qualified to show me what men liked and what they didn't. Gawain also tutored me and indeed I think he was better suited to it. But the idea intrigued Lancelot and he consented to take me under his wing for a time.

Lancelot prefers variety and is always looking for new and different ways to be stimulated. It is difficult to keep his attention, and he is easily distracted by another pretty face. I have seen many women lose their hearts to the dark knight and while I have affection for him, I would never consider him to be a good mate for a woman. There are many that attempt to tame him, no matter his reputation. He is fickle and while he does not wish to break a woman's heart it is almost against his nature not to.

I do, from time to time, go to him for the pleasure of it, but not nearly as much as I did when I was younger. We are well acquainted with each other's bodies and it is very comfortable and warming to be together.

At times all the knights have a darkness that comes upon them and Lancelot is no exception.At those times, he needs the simple comfort of a familiar woman. Though generally gregarious, when Lancelot is silent and deep in thought, he has no patience for flirtatious banter or jealous behavior. He does not wish to be asked what is wrong, or for a well-meaning woman to attempt to cajole him from his mood. At those times, he asks for me, because I will take him in my arms and hold him. I comfort his body with my own and ask nothing of him, nor do I speak. I will watch over him until he falls asleep and then silently slip away to seek my own bed.

I know there are deep feelings within him, but he does not share them. One only gets the merest glimpse from time to time, of his deeper nature under the surface. To us women he shows only his blithe, charming, devil-may-care side, and one could easily get the impression that there is very little of substance to him. But I remember how tender he was with me when I was new here and I know that he is at heart a decent man, if sometimes a little selfish.

I still remember the first time he came to me. Though I had some familiarity with men by this point, these lessons were something entirely new.

"Are you frightened of me?" he asked.

I was, a little. Trying to be brave, I answered, "no."

He saw through me, and smiled, his eyes dancing with merriment. "Very well, since you say so. Let's get started."

He stood up. "Undress me."

I looked at him. Where to start - the trousers? But then that left the problem of pulling them off over the footware. So, start at the bottom?

Seeing my confusion, he said kindly, "You may want to start with my shirt."

Trembling, hands shaking, I did as he bade me. As I fumbled with his clothing, he talked to me, telling me why I would remove this piece of clothing before that one, and under which circumstances I might forego the niceties and just pull his trousers down. While this was only my first lesson, in the future we would work on the way in which I removed the clothes. He would show me how to slowly take them off, lingering here, kissing there, so as to bring a man to a fever pitch as I undressed him.

There was so much to learn, and this was only taking off the clothes! I thought all that would be required of me would be to lay down and let a man have his way with me - with the exception of my experience with Gawain, this had been the case so far. I said as much to Lancelot.

He eyes twinkled, and he chuckled warmly. "A lot of the women think that. Sometimes that is all that is required, but if you learn how to please a man well you'll be much more sought after than the others."

I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to be sought after. I had liked being with Gawain, and while I hadn't yet been with Lancelot I liked him well enough. He was pleasing to the eye. But most of the men at The Wall were old enough to be my father, my grandfather even, and they were not nearly so nice. Mostly I wished to be left alone.

I tugged Lancelot's trousers down, over his feet, and tossed them to the floor with the rest of his clothing. Suddenly I was shy again. The other men had just leaped on me - Lancelot seemed to expect something.

I could hear the smile in Lancelot's voice. "Are you frightened now?"

I shook my head, looking at the ground.

"Well then, look at it," he said softly.

I did. It was hardly fearsome at all, soft and pale as it was, curled up in a nest of dark hair.

"It looks tame enough now, does it not? But once you bring it to life…a mighty weapon!" he said with a laugh.

I looked at him. What did he expect me to do?

"Touch it," he said. "Softly, mind you. A rough grasp will send a man to someone else the next time."

I reached for it hesitantly and stroked it lightly with my fingers.

I felt it twitch and Lancelot groaned.

I snatched my hand away, and I heard Lancelot chuckle. "It's all right. It's not going to bite you. Yet."

I reached for it again, and Lancelot said, "You can also use your mouth, which is especially helpful when a man has difficulties." He added with a grin, "Or so I've heard."

Did he want me to use my mouth? I looked at him and then went to my knees. I hesitated and then I gingerly took him between my lips. I remembered what he said about not being rough, so I sucked very lightly on it, as lightly as I could.

I heard his quick intake of breath hiss between his teeth and I stopped what I was doing.

"No…no…" he groaned. "Don't stop."

As I continued, I felt him expand in my mouth and it was an indescribably wonderful feeling. As he began to grow, his hand went to my head, gently guiding it back and forth. His other hand joined the first, urging me on just a little faster. I heard him moaning, a low sound that woke up something deep within me, and though my jaws were beginning to ache I didn't mind. Suddenlyhe pulled himself out of my mouth and said, "I think that's enough of that for now."

I looked up at him. "Was that all right?"

He looked down at me and chuckled. "Did you hear the noises I was making?"

I nodded my head.

"That means you were doing just fine," he smiled.

Remembering he was supposed to be teaching me, he added, "Just be sure to be very careful with your teeth at all times. I was unmanned for a week because a woman accidentally cut me with one of her teeth. It was awful." He looked slightly distressed, as if the mere memory was causing him pain.

He shook himself free of his thoughts and brought himself back to the present. He bade me remove my clothing, and instructed me how to do so in such a way as to enhance his enjoyment. He lay on the bed observing me, and when I was bereft of my clothing he instructed me how to ride him. I was only a few weeks rid of my virginity so I was hesitant, but he was patient with me.

He taught me how to hold back, to tease a man, and when to stop teasing. He taught me how to obtain pleasure, for many men regarded a woman's pleasure as a testament to their masculinity.

"Slide down on it, very slowly, but only a little way. The man's need is to bury himself in you, but if you don't let him it will drive him wild." Lancelot said.

I did as he asked, only taking him in a little, and very slowly. As I rode him, I watched Lancelot's eyes, heavy-lidded with desire. His face was flushed and the tip of his tongue stole out to to moisten his lips. I wondered what he would look like were I to give him what he wanted. So I took him in, suddenly and deeply, and then just as suddenly rose up again almost before he knew what was happening.

His eyes closed in ecstasy and he groaned aloud. "That was wicked of you," he said, for I was back to riding him very slowly .

"Was that bad?" I asked. I had a feeling he had liked it very much, but could not be sure.

He bucked his hips, attempting to deepen his thrusts, but I rose up with him, not allowing him what he craved. He nodded, eyes closed. "Yes, very bad. Torturous. You're doing well," he said.

His hands went to my hips and he held me in place as he thrust upwards. I tried to prevent him, but the feeling was becoming too strong, and I did not want to tease him, and myself, any longer. I began riding him in earnest, no longer caring about his pleasure but about finding my own. His fingers moved to the juncture of my legs and began expertly stroking me, and within moments I threw my head back and cried out my ecstasy.

I had barely come down from that when I was suddenly on my back, with Lancelot thrusting himself into me. I sobbed and cried out, for the sensations were almost too much to bear. Then his voice mingled with mine as he stiffened against me and reached his own peak

We lay there for a few moments, dripping with sweat and panting heavily. I thought that if only it was like this every time, with every man, I would pay for the privilege of bedding them, rather the other way around. Unfortunately, it seemed that it would be like this all too infrequently if my experiences up to that point were any indication.

But that was the moment I realized that even if I did not receive pleasure in the act, I could be capable of bringing a man to a state of near frenzy, and the idea of that intrigued me.

I was fascinated by what Lancelot was teaching me and grew more aware of the mastery that a woman could hold over a man. I learned to enjoy pleasuring a man, not so much for itself, but for the power that it made me feel. Pleasure brought forth all manner of sounds from a man's mouth and I reveled in them. It was the only power I had, and the discovery spurred me to expand my knowledge. Lancelot was a very willing partner in that endeavor of mine.

While patient he may have been, the lessons often frustrated him in the beginning and he would go to more experienced women after and take his pleasure with them. I satisfied him, but not always completely and he would to go women who did not have to be told how to bring him to his peak.I vowed to learn quickly, for my pride was wounded at not being able to satisfy him entirely. Learn I did, and Lancelot proved to be well pleased with me.

We were together for several weeks under the guise of his tutoring me in the ways of love. Of course, there was also Gawain, who has been a constant since the beginning but for a while I was with Lancelot almost every night. Eventually I could feel that he was losing interest – Lancelot always lost interest. I had fallen a little bit in love with him and had my heart broken, for I was young and foolish. I remember crying myself to sleep some nights, knowing he had moved on to a new interest and would not be coming to me. But I observed him and learned from him. Be charming, be alluring, make them think they're special. And try not to hurt them too much if they have the bad luck to develop feelings for you.

I have no illusion that I was very special to Lancelot, to have held his interest for the weeks we were together. I was merely something new and different, and it pleased him to mold me as he would. But I do not believe that I am wrong when I say that he regards me with a certain amount of affection.


	4. Bors

**Cardeia:** I do think of movie Lancelot as a bit of a ho. Women love him, and he gets around. My character wasn't immune to those charms, especially when she was younger, and hadn't yet built up her defenses. It's intoxicating when a man pays attention to you, as a younger woman, and then when they stop, it's devastating. He gave her that first lesson as well. I will touch more upon the bad stuff, but more towards the end. Obviously the real stuff would be very grim. Diseases that couldn't be cured being only one of the hazards. Pregnancy being another, though I will touch on that one later. The reality of Tristan would probably not be worth writing about either, as I see him as someone uncaring and sort of a jump on, jump off type of guy, especially with a whore. He's paying after all, why would she need to enjoy it? And the sadness and the loneliness of it, I'll touch on that as well. After all, it's a horrible life. It's not Pretty Woman, and writing it is horribly depressing. You start to delve into those emotions and frankly it puts me into a bit of a deep blue funk. But I'll go there later on in the story. I'm working on my Gawain chapter right now, but not altogether certain I will post my Galahad chapter here as it is more than a bit slashy. Might not be appreciated. ;) I enjoyed very much writing this chapter, and I think it's pretty true to the character. I hope you'll agree. Bors doesn't get all that much attention, really. He deserves some too.

**dellis: **Thanks so much for reviewing. I know that Tristan strikes a chord with a lot of people, and that's why I'm sort of hesitant about him. How real to make him? I actually think he'd be sort of brutal and rough, and fairly quick about it, especially with a prostitute.Not all that much fun to write, probably not much more fun to read. So I'm working on him. This whole thing isn't too realistic, but I don't want it to be TOO fairy tale. It's a work in progress.Hopefully whatever I decide on works, somewhat anyway. :)

**WARNING: The following contains mature subject matter. If raunchy material offends you, please do not read any further It's very crude, but I think it's also very Bors.**

Bors is not a knight I would have sought out on my own. Not that he doesn't stray from Vanora from time to time, but my own sense of loyalty dictated that I should not be one that he would stray with.

When they are together they seem to be faithful, but there have been times when they are on the outs with each other. At those times Bors would be with whomever he pleased, with no thought to Vanora's sensibilities. It was always a bad idea to encroach on another woman's territory, especially Vanora's, and Bors could not offer enough coin to tempt me into that folly. Besides, Vanora was my friend and I would not have hurt her for any amount of money.

That being said, what do you do when your friend asks you to sleep with her man?

They were once again on the outs and one woman, who Vanora particularly hated, had been sniffing around Bors. Now, Vanora could put up with the occasional meaningless indiscretion, but this woman was a different matter.

Vanora watched Annag as she planted herself on Bors' lap and made a big show of kissing him. Her display received an enthusiastic welcome from Bors and hoots of approval from the surrounding knights.

"I hate that silly cow," Vanora hissed. "Bors is making a complete fool of himself over her."

"Now love, don't worry," I said. "He'll forget her soon and come back to you. He always does." I would have given her a hug, but I knew that she did not want to appear concerned in any way about what Bors was doing. I contented myself with discreetly patting her hand.

"It's not only that. It's the way she puts on airs and sneers at me, talking about 'her' knight. I swear I'm tempted to scratch her eyes out." Vanora's temper was flaring and her hands were curled into little fists as if preparing to march over and do battle.

"And wouldn't Bors just enjoy that?" I reminded her. "Two women fighting over him – he would never let you forget it!"

Vanora sagged. "I know. I just wish I didn't care so much."

I remembered the pain I had felt when Lancelot dropped me so long ago. That had only been the disappointment of an infatuated girl – the pain Vanora was feeling must be nigh unbearable. It was times like these that I was glad I had always taken care to guard my heart. It had become such second nature to me that I wondered if it hadn't shriveled away due to lack of use.

I saw the tears brightening her eyes and in a stern voice I said, "Bear up! You can cry later, but right now you need to show them both that you couldn't care less!"

Vanora inhaled deeply and nodded her head. "What I wouldn't give to see him drop her flat!"

"He will drop her flat – for you," I told her.

"Aye, I know," she said. "But it can't be soon enough for me." Suddenly she gave me a shrewd, appraising glance.

"What?" I asked, uneasily.

"You could take him from her," she said.

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Me?" I said in surprise.

"He's never had you and I know he fancies you," she said.

This was making me uncomfortable. "I don't think he does, Vanora," I said. He'd jokingly made advances to me before but he flirted with all the women. It hadn't meant anything.

"Oh, pish!" she exclaimed. "He comes home with stories the other men tell about you and I know he wonders."

"I don't want to sleep with him," I said. "You're my friend."

"Well you wouldn't be taking him away from me, you'd be taking him away from her! And wouldn't I just love to see that!" Vanora was gloating at the thought of it. Seeing my stricken face, she sought to reason with me. "He's going to sleep with someone tonight. Either that poxy cow, or you. Who do you think I'd rather he be with?"

I considered the matter. I slept with men all the time and it never meant a thing. Why should this be any different? Except that this man belonged to my friend.

"Have you been drinking?" I asked.

Vanora looked insulted. "Nary a drop!" she exclaimed.

"Well, if you're not drunk and you're absolutely sure, I guess I'll do it," I said.

"Now?" she asked.

I heaved a big sigh and nodded. Why not? "How do I look?" I asked her.

"Better than she does," Vanora answered.

"Well, that's not saying much," I said nastily. I didn't care for Annag either, so I would get some enjoyment out of this. "Well," I said to Vanora, "I'm off."

I sauntered over to the table where the knights sat, and where Annag was holding court. When I was younger I would not have had the confidence to attempt this, but I knew my way around a man now and was supremely confident in my allure.

"Bors," I purred, "May I have a word with you?"

"Depends on what it's about," Bors rumbled.

"It's…private business," I said, looking into his eyes.

"Hold on slag, he's with me tonight!" Annag glared at me from her place on Bors' lap.

I ignored her as if she was of no consequence. Instead, using Vanora's words, I spoke directly to Bors. "If you'll get this poxy cow off your lap, you and I can talk. If not, I suppose I'll have to find another lover for the evening." To make my point I sat down on Gawain's available lap, squirming against him slightly as I did so.

Annag leaped to her feet. "Poxy cow, am I?" She began to lunge for me, but was held back by a very amused Lancelot. I gave her a contemptuous glance and turned my gaze back to Bors.

Gawain laughed heartily. "I'll be indebted to you if you say no, Bors, for I'll be a lucky man this night!" To shut him up I squirmed against him even more. Gawain groaned. "Gods, wench – stop doing that or I won't be able to stand up."

I grinned wickedly. "That's the idea," I said in a low voice.

Speaking louder, I addressed Vanora's lover. "Well, Bors, what do you say?" Since his lap was currently unoccupied I stood up and languidly went over to him. Lifting my skirts, I straddled him and wrapped my arms loosely around his neck. "Are you interested?" I could feel him hardening against me, and I rubbed myself against him ever so slightly. "Or should I just go with Gawain?"

Bors swallowed. Not taking his eyes from me, he addressed Annag. "Annag love – I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

Annag shrieked in outrage. "Don't you go anywhere with that cheap slag or I'm done with you!"

I leaned forward and purred in Bors' ear. "Her or me, Bors. I'll only offer this once, and never again." For good measure, I lightly nipped his earlobe and again rubbed myself against him.

Bors groaned and then stood, with my legs wrapped around his hips. "Well boys, I'm about to ruin her for the rest of you!" he shouted. He carried me away to the sounds of whistles, hooting and applause. I spared a glance for Vanora but she was looking with satisfaction at Annag's livid face.

Bors took me to my room and set me down once inside the door. He bent down and kissed me passionately, pulling at my clothing.

"Slow down, now," I said. "Let me do that before you tear something."

He sat in a chair and regarded me while I undressed for him.

"You know, I think about you sometimes when I…" he made a crude stroking motion by his crotch.

'Well, isn't that nice,' I thought to myself. Aloud I said, "And what kinds of things do you think about?"

"You, on all fours with that pretty white ass in the air, for one," he said.

His eyes were all over me, but I was taking my time undressing. "Is that the only thing you think about?" I asked him.

"I think about you gobbling my knob," he said. "And there was this one time when you dropped something and bent over. I think about you just like that, naked and showing me your goods." He swallowed heavily. "I'd like to see that."

Well, he certainly had a vivid imagination. I had always wondered what Vanora saw in this big, loud, crude man. I was starting to see what the appeal might be.

Now completely nude, I walked up to him. I turned and touched the floor, showing him what he desired to see. Bors reaction was enthusiastic, to say the least. I felt two hands grab my hips and then suddenly Bors' face was there, lips and tongue all over me. It was quite breathtaking, actually.

I hadn't thought to enjoy my time with Bors, but he was a master with his tongue. Quite simply, he seemed to enjoy the act very much, and it showed. My knees were about to give way with the pleasure he was giving me, and then he stopped. I heard the familiar rumble of his laugh. "Got your juices flowing there, didn't I?" he said proudly.

I had to admit, he had.

He stood up and quickly shed his clothing. He could move quickly for a big man. And as I looked down I could see that he was indeed a very big man.

He saw me looking and laughed. "That's why I've got to get the ladies ready – can't get it in if I don't."

He sat back down on the chair patted his thighs. "Come here, little girl. Sit on my lap."

I went to him and straddled his legs, with my back to him. Slowly I lowered myself on his massive hardness, taking him in a little at a time. I could hear his moans as I slid down, and at the sound of his voice I found could not contain my own. Meaningless utterances came from my throat as I began pumping up and down on him. The pleasure I was feeling was incredible. But it was about to get even better.

My legs were spread wide and his hand slid around between them. For such a big man, his touch was surprisingly delicate. His fingers slid through my wetness, gently and slowly at first. As my cries quickened, so did the speed of his strokes. Soon I threw my head back and cried out, for I was on the verge of climax. He felt me beginning to spasm against him and bade me stop moving lest I cause him to finish too soon.

It was sweet torture for both of us, me sitting there motionless, impaled on the sweet cock that I could feel throbbing inside me. I wanted so badly to ride him, to grind myself against him, but I just sat there, holding my breath, waiting for him to release me to do as I wished. Finally, in a voice more husky than normal, he said, "Turn around. I want some titties in my face."

I did as he asked. My almost-climax had receded, but it would be merely pleasure delayed, not pleasure denied. I once again slid up and down his manhood while he played with my breasts, stopping me every now and then to tongue my nipples.

My pleasure was increasing, and I began to ride him faster than ever before. I sobbed and moaned, for I was again on the verge and I wanted it, needed it badly. I almost screamed in frustration when he once again stopped me, but he was not denying us this time. He stood up and while I remained impaled on him, carried me to the bed. He spread my legs wide and slammed into me while I cried out with the incredible sensation of having that much man inside me. He came with a roar of pleasure, my screams mingling with his raspy cries, and then he collapsed against me.

Panting and spent, we lay there together for a time. Finally he spoke. "Vanora sent you to me?"

Not certain what to say, I simply opted for the truth. "Aye, she did."

"I thought so," he said. "You would not have come to me otherwise."

"No," I said. "She loves you very much." After a moment's thought I added. "You should go see her tomorrow."

Bors sighed. "You're right, I should. It's been long enough and I'm tiring of Annag anyway." Then he grinned. "But that's tomorrow. I still have the rest of the night, right?"

I nodded to him. I was fair worn out – what in the world did he have in mind?

He laughed, a pleased sounding chuckle. "There is something else I've always wanted to do with you…"


	5. Tristan

**JuneBirdie:** Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, Lancelot is a cutie, isn't he? I really never thought much about anybody but Tristan, but hanging out on Fallen Knights has kind of made me look at all the characters a little differently because everybody has their favorites. So, I thought I'd give it a go. Glad you're enjoying it.

**Cardeia:** Yeah, it was pushing it just a bit wasn't it? I thought about it and figured oh well, if they delete it, they delete it. I've got it on my hard drive anyway. ;) And it felt like Bors. I think I got closer to him than any of the others, but then Bors is just such a plain, uncomplicated character. It's kind of hard to misread him. He likes to drink and he likes to do the do. Here is what I have chosen for Tristan.Not sure if I got him, but please let me know what you think.

**Disclaimer:** The usual

**Rating: M** - no warnings necessary for this chapter.

Reading back over what I've written in my journal, I realize that it may seem that my life has something to recommend it. That maybe it's not a bad life and that going to bed with dashing and handsome knights doesn't sound like a bad way to make a living. It's not quite that simple.

I have written that many times the knights came to me when they were feeling their darkest. I took care of them, held them, saw them through the night. What I haven't written is that there was rarely anyone there to see me through my dark times.

Oh, I could always find someone to hold me, to lay with me, butI was always left even emptier than before, because it's the caring that you need, not the body. I could lay with Dagonet or Gawain and it would feel real enough at the time. But it wasn't. There was nothing to hold on to after their body was absent from mine.

Though one tries to harden oneself as best they can, there is a foolish little corner of the heart that holds onto hope. No matter how hard you try to drown that little ember, to smash it into the dust, it's there, ready to burst into the tiniest little flame. Even when everything you've experienced and everything you know tells you that you don't matter to anyone and you never really will, you think someday, you just might.

I have a theory, something I came up with during one of my dark spells. What if every man you sleep with takes a piece of your soul with him when he goes? Or maybe you just foolishly give pieces away, until you're left with nothing. That's a theory that I like; it makes sense to me. The only question that remains is – how do you get your soul back? Is it even possible?

These are the kinds of thoughts that sometimes run through my head and one could hardly blame me for not being in the mood to laugh and bat my eyes at times like these. Oh I could force myself to socialize and act happy if I needed to, but sometimes I didn't feel like putting forth the effort. I would stay in my room, or go to the tavern and simply observe. It was when I was feeling particularly alone and desperate that I would go and quietly watch people – at those times I needed a distraction to avoid falling into utter despair. Or maybe I hoped that someone would notice I was drowning and come save me.

One night in particular I was sitting at a table at the back of the tavern, simply watching the goings on. I stayed in a dark corner, not wanting to be noticed; my mood that night was quiet.

On a few occasions men had come up to me, to see if I would be interested in spending some time. I was not, and I begged off with a smile and recommended some other girls who might be willing. They had walked away disappointed, but they would not remain so for long. There were many women here tonight. I was beginning to feel that I would need to go to my room after all. I disliked these interruptions to my brooding.

I heaved a sigh and looked down at my hands, restlessly strumming the table. I wished I could pull myself out of this mood, but I would have to wait it out. I was usually a cheerful person despite everything, and I was sure I would return to my usual good humor shortly.

As I looked down at my hands, a tankard of wine appeared on the table. I looked up and was surprised to see Tristan. He sat down, taking a drink of his own wine as he did so.

"Thanks," I said, drinking deeply. Maybe having some wine would lighten my mood, though I knew from previous experience that it would probably only make things worse. But, the wine was here, why not drink?

"Not working tonight?" he asked me.

"I could be," I said, half-heartedly trying to be coquettish. One didn't really turn down a knight; it was bad form. If indeed, that was what he was here for. I could not fathom what else he would want with me, but he had never called on me before. Who knew? It was Tristan and he was beyond my reckoning.

He gave me a measured glance, having seen through my faint attempt at levity.

"No, I'm not working tonight," I said, not really feeling like playing the game anyway. Honesty was something very foreign to me now and it was refreshing to just say what was on my mind.

He nodded at me. "Didn't think so. I watched you send several men away with unhappy faces."

"I tried to be polite; I hope they weren't too unhappy." I said.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" I returned.

Tristan looked at me quizzically. "Why be polite? I wouldn't be."

"You may have the luxury of honesty. I don't," I said simply. I took another drink from my tankard. More to myself than to him I sighed, "There isn't a single honest thing in my life."

We sat in companionable silence for a while, and Tristan signaled to Myrna to bring two more drinks. I shook my head, but he said, "It'll do you good."

"Fine," I said. I lifted my cup to my lips and finished the last little bit. I was feeling only a little light headed and one more cup wouldn't make much difference.

In short order, Myrna brought over our drinks.A very sweet girl, but Myrna was plain and simple. She would have made a wonderful wife to someone, a great mother, and maybe she still would one day. We spoke for a few moments about how busy it was tonight and how the other girl, Rowena, was not pulling her share.

She rarely did, if she could get away with it. Rowena much preferred to spend the time lounging in some man's lap than carrying drinks to and fro. I never let her get away with it, but Myrna was too sweet for her own good.

"Well, I'd better get moving; they're all thirsty tonight," she said. She cast a glance at Tristan, and then at me and giggled before she left.

Tristan looked over at me. "What was that nonsense?" He grumbled.

"I imagine she thinks you are taking me to your bed tonight," I replied.

We continued drinking in silence for some time and then I said, "Why haven't you?"

"Why haven't I what?" Tristan asked.

"Taken me to your bed," I replied. He looked at me, perhaps wondering why I should want to know. "I'm curious," I said. "There has to be some reason."

"Honestly?" he asked me.

With a wry smile, I said, "By all means."

"You're too young," he said.

I had been taking a drink but I nearly spit it back in my cup with the sudden bark of laughter that erupted. Men with granddaughters my age had been known to proposition me. But I was too young for Tristan. It would be rich if it wasn't so sad. Tristan was wrong. I should be young, but I wasn't.

"No, I'm not," I said. My voice sounded tired and bleak. "Not anymore." I didn't know what I was thinking. I never spoke like this to any of the men, or indeed anyone really. With the men, you didn't want to ruin the illusion that your only happiness was to serve them in any way they desired. With the other women, you didn't want to ruin the illusion that the first was true.

"How old are you now anyway?" Tristan asked.

"Fifteen," I replied. "Almost sixteen," I added.

Tristan looked down into his cup and swirled it in his hands. "You would have been three years old when I first came here," he said.

I held my cup in two hands and brought it slowly up to my mouth. "I'm not three anymore," I said, into my cup. Then I took my drink.

Tristan gave me a long, appraising look. "No, I guess not," he said.

"What does my age matter?" I asked curiously.

Tristan picked up his drink. "I don't like the crying," he said.

I studied him over the rim of my cup. As I said before, Tristan was beyond my reckoning. Whether he was telling the truth or amusing himself I had no idea. As I had never heard of anyone leaving him in tears, I decided he was playing with his fierce reputation.

He looked at me and I could see the amusement in his eyes. I'd been right. A joke. From the man who reportedly had no sense of humor.

"I never cry," I said. And it was very nearly true.

"Well, then," said Tristan. "Maybe sometime."

"Sure, sometime," I said.

We sat for a while longer, not talking much, just sitting and watching the people in the tavern. I had switched to water after my second cup of wine; I had no wish to awaken with a raging headache. It was a companionable silence, I felt no need to speak and neither did he.

"Well," Tristan stood up and stretched. "It's late. I'm off."

I felt a pang of regret. I'd enjoyed his company, though we'd spoken very little. I'd be on my way soon after he left. Otherwise I would end up fending off the advances of the men who hadn't found anyone to be with, men who would be offering more money than I'd want to turn down.

Tristan was standing there looking at me. "Do you want to come?" he asked.

Actually, I did.

We went to my room, and he took me in his arms. Like our evening, our coming together was companionable. Two people staving off loneliness, comforting each other. There was no subterfuge. I did not have to strip, perform, laugh at stupid jokes, or pretend amazement at his sexual prowess. It was honest, the most honest thing I'd had in ages. I fell asleep in his arms, smiling.

When I awoke the next morning, I was still smiling. He'd woken me twice during the night and I was remembering every kiss, every brush of his hand.

He got out of bed and I felt his absence immediately. I wondered when I could see him again. I'd always thought him distant and cold, but he wore a mask, as did many people, myself included. Last night those masks had fallen away for a time.

After he got dressed, he leaned down to kiss me. I sat up, my eyes drinking him in as he started for the door.

He pulled out his purse and began to pour coins into his hand, began to count them out.

"You know that's not necessary," I said.

He looked over at me, his eyes questioning. "I enjoyed you last night," he said. "I'm paying my bill."

I laughed lightly. "I don't want your money, Tristan. It wasn't about that." Surely he knew.

He looked into my eyes. "What else would it have been?"

I felt my heart, that foul traitorous thing, drop to my feet. "Just leave it on the table," I said.

I lay back down in the bed, turned away from him. "I'll be seeing you," I said, trying desperately to keep my voice as casual, as even as possible.

He didn't like crying.

I sensed that he stood there watching a few moments longer, and with the sound of the coins dropping on the table, what was left of my heart shattered into a million pieces.

"You've overpaid," I said, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice. "You didn't exactly get my best performance."

In answer, there was only silence. It wasn't until my door closed and his footsteps receded down the hall that I allowed myself to cry. It was the last I would cry for a very long time.


	6. Gawain

**Stokely: **Thank you so much for the praise! I'm trying with this one, but it can be difficult. It's all imagining what it would have been like and trying not to make it seem too appealing, but not as horrid as it would obviously have been. Because I think that would be a tremendously depressing story.

**Furibondo: **Thank you so much for reviewing and for your kind words. I think that there were times when a whore would entertain someone on her "own time", just because she wanted to. My character wanted this to be something more personal, and Tristan wanted to keep it as impersonal as possible, while enjoying some sort of emotional bonding. It's so hard to show both points of view in the first person style of writing, so there are bound to be some questions as to the other characters motivations.Tristan didn't mean to be hurtful, and he paused because he sensed he had hurt her in some way, but wasn't quite sure how. He was just being honest in his dealings with her. I would like to revisit her relationship with Tristan but I think she will definitely be more wary the next time around.

**Cardeia: **I'm glad that you liked it. I believe that while women can become more "man-like" with regards to sex and of course there are men for whom sex is very emotional, by and large, women place more impact emotionally on the act than men do. Even though she is becoming jaded, she still has moments of vulnerability and I wanted to show how that vulnerability gets chipped away. While the men appreciate the women and the comforts they offer - even the emotional comforts - for them it's only what it is. I think that the emotional part of some of those couplings can linger with the women in a way they wouldn't with the men. I know - the romance thing is always sort of there, isn't it, but I'm trying to steer away from that as much as possible with this story. I may do some more memories of Tristan, since people seemed to like this chapter, or maybe show how what she perceives as his rejection of her affects her afterwards.And no, she was not the whore with the bloody knees.That was just some random barmaid.

**dellis:** So glad you liked my Tristan chapter. He is so open to interpretation and I'm glad mine jibed with yours in this case.

**Warning: This chapter contains mature subject matter of a sexual nature. If you are offended by sexual matter, please do not read any further.**

**Author's Note:** This is not an angsty chapter. More of a romance-novel type of thing, where she looks back at her first time. I think it sounds fairly Gawain-like, I hope it does to you as well. I am working on a second part of the Gawain chapter that explains more abouther first experiencesactually working as a prostitute.Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Gawain was the first knight that I met, the one who has meant the most to me over the years. He was my savior, and my first lover.

I will explain how he came into my life. I was a terrified fourteen-year old girl, standing on a table at the tavern, naked and trembling. My virginity was being auction off to the highest bidder, and leering men surrounded me. Then unexpectedly the knights burst in. They had been away for weeks and were looking for both drinks and female companionship. Finding the tavern doors closed had not pleased them.

The knights were loud and boisterous, and I was afraid that they might be there for the same purpose as the other men. Then Gawain stepped forward.

At first the sight of him alarmed me - he looked wild and dangerous. He looked at me, saw my tear-stained cheeks, and a terrible look came over his face, which made me even more fearful. But instead of harming me, he pulled his tunic over his head and handed it to me to cover my nakedness. I think I fell a little bit in love with him right then. Over the angry protests of the tavern owner, he carried me in his strong arms away from those men, away from my shame, and I felt almost safe.

While Arthur had been sympathetic, and as outraged as Gawain and Dagonet, the law was very specific. Strabo, who ran the tavern, was my legal guardian, holder of papers signed by my father. I would have to be returned to him. Gawain came to me to tell me that I would be sent back the next day, and I could see the anger in his face. I tried to put on a brave face for him, so he wouldn't feel so bad, but I fear I failed miserably.

"Tomorrow?" I whispered.

"I'm afraid so," he said softly. His thumb came up to wipe a tear that wandered down my cheek.

"Do you think he's already sold me?" I thought about the men who had been there, bidding on me. All of them were old, fat, pockmarked or any combination of the three. And I would be sent to the bed of one of them. The thought terrified me. I hoped I hadn't been sold. On the other hand, I didn't want to have to go through the indignity of another auction.

"I don't know," Gawain said in a defeated voice. "Maybe."

"It's going to hurt," I said. "Isn't it?"

Gawain just looked at me. He didn't seem to know what to say.

I sagged a bit. "I hoped he was lying to me, to scare me," I said. "He put his finger in me and it hurt so much I cried. He said to wait until my maidenhead was taken, that I'd find out what real pain was."

"He put his…" Gawain's jaw clenched and I could see that he was getting angry again.

I recoiled a bit. "He said he wanted to make sure he was getting what he paid for," I explained.

"You're just a child!" Gawain exploded.

I looked down at the floor. Quietly I said, "I'm fourteen - old enough to be married."

He looked at me skeptically. "Do you bleed?"

My face burned bright red at this very personal question. "Yes," I said in a very small voice.

"I'm sorry," he said, embarrassed for me. "I'm not used to talking to innocent girls, mostly whores…"

He broke off, perhaps realizing that's what I'd be soon enough.

The silence between us was awkward. I looked at him. He was very pleasing, much more than any of the men I'd be given to. I liked him, he was kind. If it had to be done, why not with someone that I liked? But I didn't know how to ask what I wanted to ask him.

"Gawain…" I began hesitantly. "What if I were not a virgin when I went back to him? Could he still go through with the auction?"

Gawain looked at me. "He probably wouldn't. If you were not as he promised his reputation would be damaged," he said. "Why? What are you thinking?"

I just looked at him. I couldn't say it.

I watched as realization began to dawn on his face. "Me?" he asked. "I couldn't."

I lowered my head. Just because he was nice to me didn't mean he would do…that. And now I'd made a fool of myself.

Gawain realized my embarrassment and stammered, "I don't mean I couldn't, I just mean…"

"Why not?" I asked. "Am I displeasing to you?"

His voice was gentle. "Of course not. You'll be a very beautiful woman. But your first time shouldn't be with someone like me."

"Should it be with someone like them?" I asked him plainly.

Gawain looked sad, and shook his head. "No – it shouldn't. It should be with someone your own age, someone you love. Someone who will make it sweet."

"But it's not going to be," I said. "It will be with one of those old, fat men, and I'm afraid because I don't really even know what they're going to do to me. Only that it's going to hurt and be disgusting." My eyes were filling with tears as I looked up at him. "Can't _you_ make it sweet?" I asked in a small voice.

He looked at me and I saw the compassion in his face. If the choice was between letting me have my virginity ripped painfully from me, and taking it himself, he knew which would be kinder. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked. "You only get one first time."

I looked him in the eyes. "My first time is going to happen soon anyway. But will it be horrible, or will it be…?" I didn't know the words to say, because I didn't know how it was supposed to be. He'd said sweet, but I didn't really know what that meant.

Gawain looked at me and reluctantly nodded. He'd agreed. I began to take off the tunic of his that I was still wearing, but he stopped me. Leaning forward, he pulled it back down so that I was covered again.

Confused, I said, "I thought you were going to do this for me. We should get it over with."

He smiled kindly. "I'm not going to just 'get it over with,'" he said. "I want you to be able to look back on this and smile."

He stood up to leave. "First, I'm off to the baths to wash up. You won't be smiling if I don't. I stink of horse and haven'tbathed for days." He turned towards the door and then back again. "Are you hungry at all?"

I nodded my head. Then I said, "What should I do?" Was I supposed to just sit here and wait? And think about what was to come? I'd go mad.

Gawain looked at me. I think he saw the anxiety on my face, for he said, "I'll send Vanora up to you. She'll get you something to eat and take care of you. If you have any questions you don't want to ask me, you can ask her."

I nodded gratefully. My mother had never gotten around to telling me anything and I felt woefully ignorant.

He left the room and shortly thereafter Vanora came in. She was young, beautiful and about six months along in her pregnancy. She put me at ease immediately, and was very friendly. She brought some food, which I wolfed down. I had not eaten since the night before. As I ate, she spoke to me. It seemed she not only knew Strabo, but was a barmaid at the tavern.

"So you're the girl whose maidenhead he was going to sell, are you?" Vanora laughed with delight. "He's furious, I'll bet. And there'll be no end to his fury when he finds your precious virginity is gone!"

My stomach tied up in knots. "What do you think he'll do?" I asked her.

"What can he do?" said Vanora. "He'll be angry, but he can't touch the knights, or displease them. His business depends on them. Where the knights go, so go the women. And where the women go, so follow the rest of the men." She soothed my brow, which was furrowed with worry. "Don't worry dear. He'll be angry, but he'll get over it."

Vanora was such a great help to me that day. I'd had a bath that morning before being put up on display like a prized cow. But she had me wash up a little, and told me that men always appreciated a clean, sweet-smelling woman. If I used perfume, use only sparingly because men generally preferred a woman's natural scent anyway. She brushed out my hair and talked to me about what to expect from the evening to come.

She also brought me some of her clothing to wear. "You can't just wear that tunic," she said. "It stinks of Gawain," she said, wrinkling her nose.

I'd liked the scent of it.

I was certain of my choice, but I suddenly wanted to have it validated. "Vanora, am I doing the right thing? What would you do?"

She looked at me and stroked my hair. "I would do just as you are doing. Gawain is a fine, fine man, and he will give you an experience to remember. Would that I'd had a man such as him for my first time."

My hair was brushed and gleaming, and I was dressed. Vanora pinched my cheeks to put some color in them. "You're white as death, child. Relax; enjoy yourself. You're about to have a wonderful experience. I promise you – he'll be very gentle, and he won't get angry if you change your mind."

She stood back and looked at me with approval. Then she smiled. "But I wouldn't change my mind if I were you. You're a very lucky girl."

Then came a knock at the door. I felt the blood run from my face, and a momentary sense of panic. Vanora squeezed my hand and kissed me on the cheek. "Don't fret – you'll be fine," she whispered to me.

She opened the door and greeted Gawain. I heard the deep timbre of his voice and I turned away from the door and from him, wondering again if I was doing the right thing. I heard the door close and then Vanora was gone.

I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders and nearly jumped out of my skin. "Are you still sure about this?" Gawain said gently.

I turned around and looked up into his beautiful blue eyes. Spellbound, I nodded my head. "Yes, I'm sure," I said.

Gawain looked at me. "You're beautiful," he said.

I looked down at my feet, embarrassed, certain he was just being nice.

His hand cupped my chin and raised my face. Blue eyes smiled into my own. "You are," he said softly.

His face moved closer to mine and I felt the whisper soft touch of his lips on my mouth. His lips caressed mine, brushing against them, moving softly until I longed to capture his mouth with my own. My lips parted to receive the slightest flicker of his tongue.

I was startled and my body stiffened beneath his hands. What an odd sensation. Wonderful, but odd. Gawain pulled back and looked at me, a question in his eyes.

"I was only surprised," I said.

Gawain smiled. "I expect you will be surprised quite a bit this night. Shall I go on?"

I nodded my head, and once again felt the pressure of his soft mouth on my own, his tongue lightly teasing mine. Up until now, my hands had hung awkwardly at my sides, but his beard tickled me, and I quite liked the sensation. I reached up with one hand, touching his face. The other I tentatively placed against his chest.

Gawain pulled me tighter against him, his kisses growing more insistent. I began to feel a curious longing for something, but I didn't know what that might be. These kisses were very much a part of it; I knew that much. Opening my mouth wider, I began to explore him with my tongue as he explored me, and I heard a soft noise of what I took to be approval.

As he held me closer and we continued kissing, I became aware of something hard pressed against my stomach. I was curious about it, and pushed closer to him. I was startled at his deep groan, and thought I had done something wrong. I pulled back.

"Did I hurt you?" I asked.

He seemed amused at the question. "No, little one, you did not. Indeed, there is very little you could do that would, so do not fear to touch anything you like if it will satisfy your curiosity."

I blushed and looked down. I had thought I was being subtle.

"No?" he asked, amusement still in his voice. "Shall we continue then?"

As he reached for me again, I said, "I want…" what did I want? I finally settled on, "…more."

I thought I saw his eyes darken a little. How strange, I thought.

"More, is it?" he asked. "Then more it shall be."

He removed his tunic and I gazed at the golden hair that curled upon his chest. "I said you may satisfy your curiosity if you wish," he said to me.

My hand reached out and lightly stroked his chest, fingers curling, combing through the soft fur. I wondered if his nipples held the same sensitivity as mine when I brushed against them. He had said to explore what I wished, so I did.

I heard the soft hiss of Gawain's breath. I looked up at him and was startled by the intensity with which he was regarding me, and stopped my explorations.

"You may continue, little one," he said in a voice that was strangely husky. "I get much pleasure from your touch."

Assured that I was not offending him, or doing anything wrong, I continued. I touched his abdomen, marveling at how unyielding it was, far unlike the softness of my own form. I longed to go lower and explore the swelling in his trousers, but did not have the nerve. I didn't think that I could ever touch…that. Indeed, I could feel my face flame at the thought. I ran my hands up the hardness of his arms, and wondered at the strength that must be in them. "You must wield a mighty sword, to be so strong," I said.

"I have been told that I do," said Gawain, amusement in his voice. I looked up at him, unsure of what I'd said that would be cause for amusement.

"Have you satisfied yourself for now, or is there more?"

Did I hear a slight touch of impatience in his voice? Maybe he was eager to get this over with and be on his way. "I am satisfied," I said.

"Not yet," he smiled. "But you will be."

I felt a shiver of anticipation.

He leaned forward and began to work at my clothing. "Shall we rid you of some of this?" he asked.

"I told Vanora that it was pointless to dress me, as my clothing would only be coming off anyway," I told him.

"No, Vanora was right. It's like a gift, and unwrapping it is half the fun," he said.

"But you've already seen me…" I blushed, because he had.

My outer clothing fell away, leaving only my sheer underdress. Gawain gazed down at me in appreciation.

"Tsk," he chided me. "You mustn't be so practical. I may have seen you already, but the act of love is about anticipation and mystery as much as it is about naked bodies coming together. A man will always enjoy watching a woman slowly undress for him, though he has seen her a dozen times before."

I would not have thought that to be the case. I had learned something new.

"But enough talk," he said as he reached for me again.

Again, his wonderful, soft, deep kisses. His hand rested against my throat, his thumb idly strumming my pulse. I held my breath as it slowly wandered down to my breast, where his thumb repeated the motion. My nipples began to stiffen in response. As his thumb circled I could feel the fabric scratch against me and I moaned aloud. My arms wrapped around his neck and I pressed more fully against him, against that fascinating hardness.

"Gods, you are sweet," he groaned into my mouth.

His hand began moving lower. Down to my waist his hand went. Lower, to my hip, and then still lower. I could feel the fabric of my underdress rising and the air against the skin of my thighs.

His fingers were now on my bare skin, moving slowly towards my inner thigh. I widened my stance, for I knew where those fingers were traveling. I knew I was being brazen, and that I should be embarrassed for wanting him to touch me there. Time enough for embarrassment later. Right now I just yearned.

As his fingers dragged slowly across my skin I became aware of something new. Along with that delicious ache that had been building up, came a curious dampness. It felt as if it were fairly gushing from me, though I knew that was probably my own anxiety. It could not be my flow, for it was not time for that. But what was it?

His fingers were drawing closer, indeed had brushed against the nest of hair between my legs. I stiffened. "Wait!" I said.

He drew back and looked at me, but his fingers continued on, sliding between my legs and causing me to throw my head back in shock.

Continuing to stroke me, he looked into my eyes. "Would you like me to stop?" he asked.

Wordlessly, I shook my head, unable to speak.

He said nothing about what he had felt down there, did not appear shocked or disgusted. Was it perhaps normal?

"If you really want me to, I will," he said. All the time his fingers stroking, strumming against me.

"No…" I groaned, my voice surprisingly husky. "Please…more."

A low growl escaped him and his hands quickly raised my underdress over my head, rendering me nude before his gaze. He pulled me against him and his mouth came down on mine, more insistent than ever before. Pushing me back onto the bed, his kisses trailing down my throat, and further, to my breasts. I arched my back, trying to push myself closer to the delicious sensations provided by his lips and tongue. His fingers trailed down my stomach, and lower, where Gawain found me already spread wide for his touch.

"You like that, do you?" he said against my breast, his voice nearly a growl.

I moaned in the affirmative. I felt completely shameless. His lips had ceased their gentle nuzzling and I opened my eyes to find him propped on one arm beside me, just watching my face. His fingers were still stroking me and I could not stop myself from grinding my pelvis in time with his rhythm, thrusting myself up towards his touch. As I said, shameless.

"Why are you watching me?" I gasped. It felt a little uncomfortable to be so observed.

"I'm the first man to put that look on your face," he said. "I want to remember it."

He continued to watch me as he stroked, and brought me closer to a state of intensity that I didn't quite understand, but craved. I knew there was more and I longed to find out what it was. My disappointment was palpable when he stopped stroking me and removed himself from the bed.

I watched until I realized he was removing his trousers. Although I was in a state of longing, I was also afraid. Not of him, for I knew he would try not to hurt me. But wouldn't it still hurt?

My eyes widened as I got my first look at an erect, nude man. I quickly closed them. Strabo's finger had hurt and was not nearly that size. How in the world would Gawain ever fit inside me?

He once again joined me on the bed and I stiffened. This was it. Soon I would no longer be a virgin.

He called my name, and I reluctantly opened my eyes and looked into his blue ones. "You're afraid," he said, leaning down to kiss me.

I nodded my head.

His fingers once again found me, and I hissed with pleasure. "That's what all this has been about," he said. "To get you ready, to ease my passage." His lips hovered over my ear and I shivered in delight at the sensation of his breath against it. "There will be some small pain, but after that, only pleasure."

I was still apprehensive, but I trusted Gawain. "I'm ready."

Gawain kneeled between my legs and I stiffened as he pushed against me. But he was not yet seeking entry, merely doing with his manhood what his fingers had been doing before. I closed my eyes – I could not look at him. I had never imagined such a thing.

"Open your eyes," Gawain said. "There is no shame in any of this. If you receive pleasure, receive it eagerly and enjoy it."

And I did enjoy it. Shamelessly, I pulled my legs wider, wanting more, aching for it. I was no longer afraid for him to be inside me, indeed I was eager for it, wanting it. He was sliding himself against me, over the entrance but not yet inside and I began to squirm in frustration. All my emotions - the pleasure, the frustration, and the longing played out on my face and he watched it all.

Finally I sensed that he was done teasing me, done readying me, for I was past ready for this. He poised himself for entry and once again asked me, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Gods, yes!" I cried out. "Cease your torture!"

He smiled, and watched my face as he slowly slid into me. My mouth opened slightly and I held my breath. There was some resistance, and I felt a stab of pain, and then it receded. Having watched my face as he took my virginity, Gawain was apparently now satisfied, for his mouth came down on mine and I received his kiss as eagerly as my body was receiving his manhood.

His body plunged into mine, and as he thrust forward, his body rubbed against that one place that brought such delight. With each thrust I came a little closer to that unknown but much desired end. Finally, it was there, that wonderful explosion of feeling that I had been waiting for. I stiffened against him and shuddered, crying out against his chest. He gripped me tighter, quickening his pace and with a mighty roar, found his own pleasure.

He collapsed against me, and I held him tightly as we both drifted off to sleep.


	7. Gawain: The Next Day

**June Birdie:** I hope you got my email - it would be fine with me if you use my concept for your fic. I'm glad you liked it, and here is some more of sweetie Gawain. I sort of wanted to finish how she got started and how she ended up with Lancelot as her tutor.

**Cardeia:** I'm glad you were enthusiastic about that last chapter. I wasn't all that sure of it, it seemed a bit fluffy, especially coming off the Tristan chapter. Or maybe because of the Tristan chapter. I am starting to really like Gawain a lot, and I hope you like this next chapter because he continues to show what a great guy he is. I was sort of tempted to take the story in a "romance novel" type of direction myself, but I had to reign it in. It's sort of hard not to have her fall flat-out in love with this guy, because why wouldn't she?And Gawain obviously cares for her, so it could have gone that way. Maybe I'll do another one where the OC does get to live happily ever after with Gawain, and I'm very anxious to see your Gawain from Cerys at Knight end up happy. He deserves it.Anyway,I hope this chapter answers some questions left by the Lancelot one.

Anyway on to the next chapter.Thanks for reading:)

Gawain reluctantly took me back to the tavern, back to Strabo, the following morning. I had been worried about what would await me once my guardian found that I was no longer as I had been. But as frightened as I was about the consequences, I would not have given up my experience with Gawain for anything. It would give me a wonderful memory to look back upon, and I had the feeling that very few of my future lovers would compare to him.

My knees were like water as we walked over to the tavern. I wanted to run screaming, rather than return to that place but I knew that would be futile. Gawain had risked enough to help me; I would not make it more difficult for him by making him carry me back.

"You'll tell him I forced you," said Gawain.

I looked at him incredulously. "I could not say that," I said. "I would have no one thinking such a thing of you."

Gawain looked at me fondly. "No one whose opinion I care about would believe it anyway. But Strabo would, and he will hold you blameless for his loss of coin. If he thought you willingly cheated him out of his money he would make things very difficult for you."

I was silent, thinking about it. The story did not sit well with me.

"Go along with it – for me," Gawain said. "This is all I can do to help you. He can do little to me – he'll be angry, maybe make a formal complaint, but it will go nowhere."

He stopped and put his hands on my shoulders, looking earnestly into my eyes. "I would worry about you. Your life is going to be hard enough without incurring his enmity as well."

To ease his mind, I nodded my head in agreement. I just hoped no one would ask me for any details because I would not be able to carry the lie that far.

"You already know Vanora – you can go to her if you need anything. She will do what she can for you," Gawain said. "And I will watch over you as best I can, but I am afraid I can do little for you."

"You have done enough already, Gawain," I said. "What you gave me last night – I will carry it with me forever." I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

"I will also remember, little one," he said softly. "Thank you for the gift of yourself. I was honored that you chose me."

Tears sprang to my eyes. What a kind and wonderful man he was. I could fall in love with him; foolish as I knew it would be. He was a knight - his position far above mine, a mere peasant girl. That he had noticed my plight and cared to intervene had been beyond comprehension in itself. I gripped his hand tightly in thanks.

As we arrived at the tavern, he let go my hand. "It is unlikely that you would be holding the hand of a man who forced you only the night before," he said. "Let me do the talking. You can pretend to be too traumatized to speak if he asks you questions."

I nodded to him, and took a deep breath.

He opened the door and pushed me in ahead of him. "I return your ward to you, Strabo," he called out.

Strabo looked up from where he sat at a table, eating his breakfast. He was a large man, with the look of having been muscular in his younger years, but who now ran to fat. He had heavy jowls and looked like he should have been a merry man, unless you happened to look him in the eye. He had the coldest, meanest little eyes I had ever seen, gray like tiny pebbles and always taking the measure of people, looking for advantage.

"May I ask, Gawain, in what state you return her to me?" His huge size was belied by a high pitched, tiny voice, a voice which would make one laugh if one did not first take in his cold, deadly eyes.

Gawain ripped a piece of bread from a fresh loaf that was sitting upon Strabo's table, and popped it into his mouth. "Oh, she's quite spoiled," he said.

I saw the big man's jaw clench, and his eyes shifted over to me, as if he could discern my state with a glance. I had no trouble looking absolutely cowed and terrorized, and if the he assumed it to be because of Gawain, then so much the better.

"It appears that I am owed damages then," said Strabo. "You have cost me a tidy sum. Virgin girls are a rarity here, beautiful ones even more so."

"I have no problems paying damages. She was well worth it, for she put up a good fight," said Gawain. "Make your complaint to Arthur and I will pay whatever damages he deems fair."

Strabo chuckled, a cold and humorless sound that made the hair on the back of my neck raise. "Arthur, is it? And what good would that do me, for he would insist the damages be paid to the girl, and not to myself."

Gawain grabbed another piece of bread and shrugged. "Then you could appeal. He is my commanding officer, and whom the complaint must go to. That you would not like his ruling does not change protocol."

Strabo's mean little eyes grew even smaller if at all possible. "It all seems hardly worth the trouble." His eyes flicked over to me. "Ah, well. I'll start working her tonight. She will make up the difference on her back, turn the coin over to me until I am satisfied."

The older man patted his thigh. "Come here, girl," he said.

I walked uncertainly over to stand in front of him. "Sit," he said, again patting his thigh.

I did as he bade me, and his arm went around my waist, pulling me back against him. "Have you eaten, sweeting?" he crooned into my ear. I fought to keep from shivering with revulsion.

"No," I said softly.

"Open up," Strabo said, watching Gawain carefully. I obediently opened my mouth for the food he plucked from his plate and was startled when instead of merely feeding me, his finger entered my mouth. As he slid his finger out from between my lips, he made a noise of approval.

"How is she with her mouth, Gawain?" He looked at the knight. "Or did you make the attempt?"

Gawain maintained an unconcerned look on his face. "No, not this time."

Strabo nodded thoughtfully. "I'll show her what to do."

I felt a flush of panic. Though I yearned to run, I did not. However, I was unable to stop myself from shaking in fear.

The big man laughed. "See, how she trembles with desire already." He smiled at Gawain. "And since she is no longer untouched, I do not have to wait to have her. So, there is a bright side to everything."

He turned slightly to look behind him. "Ada!" He roared. "Take this one back to my room."

A woman came scurrying forward to do his bidding. Strabo's eyes flickered to Gawain. "Give her a bath first," he said to the woman.

It was as close as I ever heard him come to insulting one of the knights to their face. As I grew to know the man I realized that he must have been horribly angry with Gawain, for rarely was he ever anything but obsequious when speaking to the knights.

And unable to take out his frustration on Gawain, he would take it out on me.

As I was led from the room, I wished for nothing more than to run to the golden haired knight, to have him hold me in his arms. But I could not even look at him for fear I would burst into tears. And as he said, he could do nothing for me anyway.

As it was, I did not see Gawain for several weeks. I was otherwise occupied with Strabo that evening and the day after that, the knights were gone again.

Those few weeks were a dark time for me. I became quieter, kept my gaze downward. I had found that I did not enjoy the attentions of men and tried my hardest to avoid them. While I would not refuse a man, neither did I encourage them, to Strabo's great frustration.

I could serve drinks and was a good barmaid, but I had not been doing well at my other duties. Customers were displeased with my lack of skill and my reticence. Strabo had threatened to put me out on the street and I was terrified that he would do so. While being under his care was not wonderful, at least I had a roof over my head and food in my belly. If he turned me out I would then be one of those pitiful women forced to beg or sell themselves in the streets. Strabo was a great prize compared to the men that those poor women were forced to pleasure.

Gawain's return found me greatly changed. Though my heart leapt when I saw him enter the tavern, I was hesitant to approach him. I felt like a failure and was embarrassed for him to know how badly I was doing.

However, drinks needed to be served and Strabo sent me in particular to the knights' table to serve them.

Gawain looked up as I approached and after his initial look of happiness at seeing me his expression quickly turned dark. "Who hit you?" he said.

I had forgotten the fading bruises on my face.

"I…I don't know," I said. "It was just a man."

"Vanora!" Gawain called.

As the beautiful redhead came to the table, Gawain asked her who gave me my bruises.

"You know I won't tell you that, Gawain," she said. "He was made to pay extra, and that was the end of it."

"I wish to talk to him," he insisted.

"Talk?" asked Vanora with a raised eyebrow. "And what happens when you're gone and he decides to 'talk' to her? You can't protect her when you're not here."

Gawain sat back, still angry. "I know," he growled. "But I want it known that she is under my protection. You'll do that, won't you?"

Vanora nodded her head. "That I can do – it should help. And I wanted to talk to you about that anyway. She motioned us to another table, one where it was a little quieter and afforded some privacy. After we moved away from the other knights, Vanora began to speak.

"Strabo is ruining her. He's making her go to anybody with coin, and she's too inexperienced for most of them. And worse, he's talking about putting her out because of it."

I was uncomfortable with this conversation, for I hadn't wanted Gawain to know what a failure I was, and I didn't like being discussed as if I wasn't even there. Looking around, I saw Strabo watching me. I thought I'd better get moving before I incurred his wrath, and at the same time I could get away from this excruciating discussion. "Is there anything else I can get you?" I asked as I prepared to leave.

"You're done working for the night," said Gawain, holding out his hand. "Come, join me."

I looked at Vanora, uncertain if I could just stop working.

"It's alright," she said. "You may stop working if you are entertaining men at their table. If it gets busy, try to take a few moments to help the other girls out a little bit. Just make sure that the time spent at their table is profitable and you won't get in trouble." She looked at Gawain as she said this last.

In response he jingled his purse and smiled. At Gawain's insistence, I sat down on his lap. He looked at Vanora. "You were saying?"

"Most of the women who come here already know their way around a man. She doesn't, but Strabo expects her to perform as if she did. The soldier who gave her those bruises is known for certain preferences, and she should have never been sent to him unprepared as she was."

"What sort of preferences?" Gawains' voice was icy.

"Vanora, please!" I begged. "It's better forgotten." I didn't want Gawain to know what the man had done to me. He'd tried to take me in what I felt was an unnatural manner. Displeased by my unwillingness, he had beaten me and then forced me to it anyway. The whole episode had been sordid and I would take any beating rather than a repeat of that particular act, or even discussion of it.

Vanora looked at me. "It's not important, Gawain," she said. "What is important is that someone teach her what she needs to know. She'll never learn how to please a man if she's only ever sent to men who scare her witless and beat her."

Gawain clenched his jaw. "I take it you have a solution?" he asked.

Vanora nodded her head. "The knights could teach her. Except for Tristan. Or Bors, for that matter."

Gawain looked at her with a sly expression on his face. "Keeping that one to yourself, eh?" he smiled.

"Would YOU want Bors teaching her?" Vanora asked, rolling her eyes.

Gawain laughed. "Now that I think about it, no I wouldn't. A male Bors is bad enough, can't imagine a female one." His laughter died away as he considered Vanora's proposal. "But it's not a bad idea. Do you think Strabo will go along with it?"

"If you appeal to his sense of greed, he will." Vanora said.

"Me?" Gawain said. "It's your idea."

"Yes, but he'll never listen to me," Vanora replied. "You know how he is. Women are only good for one thing as far as he is concerned."

"So, how do I appeal to his sense of greed?" Gawain asked.

"Men want what is not easily obtainable. She has youth and beauty, and can command a higher price if she is more exclusive. Right now he sends her to any drunk with two coins to rub together. But if she becomes a favorite of the knights, and goes only to them and the higher ranking Romans, she can get as much from one customer as she gets in a whole evening right now."

I had been listening with interest, and this particularly appealed to me. Though I cared little for money, and Strabo got most of it anyway, I would be very interested in servicing fewer men.

Gawain looked at Vanora with admiration. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

"Not really," Vanora replied. "It's only common sense, something that Strabo is sadly lacking. He doesn't see past a single evening's profits. The hardest part is going to be convincing him to give her time to learn what she needs to know."

"I'll give it my best effort," Gawain said. "Though he no doubt bears me some ill will."

The conversation now over, Gawain rejoined the other knights and pulled me down upon his lap, where I spent the rest of the evening. At first I had been very stiff, unable to relax, but by the end of the night I was leaning against his chest, snuggled up against him while he played dice with the other knights.

When the evening was over, he took me to his room.I began to undress for him buthe stopped me. "I think you've had enough of that for a while," he said. "Just sleep tonight."

I protested, for he had already given me coin. I also knew that men liked to have the comfort of a woman and did not want Gawain to feel neglected. But he insisted, and I admit that I appreciated the consideration. I resolved to make it up to him later.

He left for a time, saying he wanted to speak with Strabo. I was certain that he was merely being kind, that he meant to find some female companionship before he returned to the cold bed he would share with me. While I felt a twinge of jealousy, I could not begrudge him a more capable partner.

When he returned, he took me in his arms and I curled up against him, feeling safe and warm.

"He agreed to Vanora's proposal," he said. "You'll be serving drinks but you don't have to service customers – at least for the next few weeks," he said.

"Not even Strabo?" I asked.

Gawain kissed the top of my head. "Not even Strabo," he said. He told me that he would be teaching me what he could, but that Lancelot would be tutoring me as well. Gawain trusted him, and the dark knight had a reputation with the ladies. Being tutored by him could only increase my worth, and Gawain thought that I would enjoy Lancelot.

It wasn't until much later that I found out how Gawain had gotten Strabo to agree to his proposal – he'd purchased my services for the next few weeks. Knowing Strabo, it was probably no small sum, and I'm certain that he received his precious damages as well. Gawain, being the man that he was, never did let me pay him back.

Upon hearing Gawain's news my eyes filled with tears of gratitude. He had done so much for me and I resolved to do my best to learn well and make him proud of me. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer. He softly told me that I did not have to show him my gratitude in that way.

It was not gratitude or duty that I felt, but the beginning of the closest thing to real love that I will probably ever know. I could never tell him how I felt, but I could show him. I looked in his eyes and stroked his face -with my lips and hands I told him how I felt. Assured that I reached for him because I wanted him, not out of obligation, he took me in his arms and once again, it was sweet.


	8. Galahad

**Cardeia: **I think it probably was very traumatic for her, but you do what you have to, and as you said, Gawain got her off to a good start, letting her know how it was supposed to be. I'm glad you like Vanora - I think she's pretty smart and she can obviously handle herself - heck, she can handle Bors and that takes one heck of a woman as far as I'm concerned. I'll explain a bit more later about her role in the running of the tavern and how things sort of work around there. I think I'm going to do a sort of "random memory" type of thing that goes over various things that don't necessarily have to do with any of the knights in particular. I'm also working on a second part of the Tristan thing that shows how she reacts to her perception that he rejected her and the repercussions of her actions. It'll bring in a bit of the other knights and a Roman or two as well.This is really getting longer than I thought it would be but as I go I'm finding more things to write about. And it's sort of challenging to write the material and keep it within the M boundaries though as you saw I sort of stretched it a bit in the Bors chapter. This chapter might stretch those boundaries as well, but I think I cleaned it up pretty well. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, I started to look at Galahad just a bit differently after this one.

**Miggyrow: **Thanks so much for reading. I've been reading your story as well, I'm sorry I haven't reviewed for a while. But I promise I will get to it. I very much like Tanjin and the whole Hun angle. The fierce and proud Hun vs the fierce and proud Sarmatians. Really good concept!

**Furibondo:** Yes, I could see where this girl and Gawain could fall in love, and indeed they do love each other in their own fashion. I think he also feels quite a bit of fondness for the other women in his life and this girl is merely one of them. She would see the hopelessness of giving her heart to Gawain totally and waiting for something that won't happen.I think she takes love where she can find it and sometimesit isn't enough, but it's all she's going to get. In the beginning she may have held a bit of hope, but I think when Lancelot broke her heart she quickly realized what the reality was. She could like these guys, even love some of them but there had to be a certain amount of distance. Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing; I'm glad you liked it. This one may not be so much to your taste. Generally I don't write slash but it just seemed the direction that this chapter needed to go in. If you don't read and review I'll understand.

**Disclaimer:** Obviously I don't own any of this, nor do I profit from it in any way. I just like to play with them.

**Rating:** M

**Warning: The following contains scenes of slash - m/m sex, in other words. I do not believe they are graphic but it is very definitely slash and if that offends you please do not read any further. I realize that not everyone likes slash and I myself do not often write it. However, I felt that this chapter called for a certain interpretation of the relationship between Galahad and Gawain. If you do not like the idea of this interpretation, again, please do not read any futher**.

My relationship with Galahad was complicated, to say the least. Though over time it changed, in the beginning Galahad didn't like me, nor I him. Even after things became more cordial between us we were still often at odds.

Because Galahad did not like me he did not seek me out on his own, and Gawain did not share me with Galahad for many months after our association began. The two of them shared many women, but I had thus far not been one of them. I eventually found out that Galahad was resentful of me for just that reason. His perception seemed to be that Gawain held me in special esteem and that seemed to be the reason for his hostility. However, I do not believe that to be the case. I assume Gawain did not share me merely out of consideration for my own sensibilities, for I was yet young and inexperienced. But Gawain continued to see me as such long after that ceased to be the case.

One night I was at the table with the knights, sitting on Gawain's lap. The drink had been flowing as it tended to do and Galahad was surly, as he tended to be. He sat in brooding silence while he watched Gawain and I kissing and caressing. Finally Galahad's foul mood got the better of him.

"It appears I'll be going home alone yet again tonight, while Gawain goes to a willing bed," he noted grumpily.

I looked around. It was odd, but the women all seemed to be otherwise occupied. I looked at Gawain and whispered in his ear. I had to admit that I was somewhat curious about bedding two men at once, and this appeared to be the occasion when I could satisfy that curiosity.

After I whispered my willingness to Gawain, he looked at me and asked, "Are you sure?"

I nodded to him and nuzzled his neck.

"You may join us this night, if you've a mind to, Galahad," Gawain said.

Though one would have thought that Galahad's mood would improve with that invitation, if anything he became surlier.

"Oh, have you finally decided to share?" he grumbled.

Gawain looked at me and we both burst into laughter, which caused Galahad to scowl even more. Gawain and I got up from our chair and as I wandered out the door, Gawain coaxed the young knight from his chair and followed me, throwing his arm around his grumpy friend's shoulders.

When we got to Gawain's room, I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a long, passionate kiss. I could feel him beginning to respond to me and was eager to begin the rest of our evening. Looking over at Galahad, I could see that he was slouched in a chair, sulking. I began to remove Gawain's tunic, kissing and licking his skin as I did so.

He moaned and invited Galahad to come over and join us. "Let her pleasure you as she does me, Galahad. That will surely put a smile on your face!"

Galahad said, "I'll join you soon enough. Go on without me for now."

I decided to give him an incentive to join us and I began removing my clothing as I continued kissing Gawain, who was only too happy to offer his assistance in stripping me. Fully nude, I embraced Gawain, feeling the bare skin of his chest against me. He buried his face in my neck and whispered, "I think he's starting to get interested."

I sank to my knees and began to loosen Gawain's trousers. I freed him and gazed in appreciation. I considered how much I enjoyed this beautiful, golden man as I leaned forward and began to pleasure him with my mouth. I smiled as I heard an intake of breath and then a low growl from above me.

"Come over here and give her something else to do, Galahad. If she keeps this up I'll be finished before the evening has begun."

I flirtatiously turned my eyes up to him and said, "You would recover quickly, as you always do. But while recovering, mayhap I would have another to occupy me?" My tongue came out to teasingly flick against him before once again taking him between my lips.

Gawain smiled wickedly, and looked at Galahad. "You've just received an invitation, boy. Come join us, for you may not get another!"

As I continued giving my attentions to Gawain, I was aware of Galahad removing his clothing. Galahad may not have been my favorite person due to his unreasoning dislike of me, but he was a very attractive man. I was eager to see what he had to offer me this night.

Then he was standing next to me. I heard Gawain's voice, low and gentle as he spoke to him. "Kiss her, Galahad."

A moment later, Galahad was beside me, kneeling next to me. I released Gawain's manhood and looked at the young knight. Would he do as Gawain asked, or would I have to make the first move?

I can only think that what came next was due to drink and Galahad's need to claim what he believed to be his alone. For Galahad came to regret his actions, which revealed to me his more intimate relationship with Gawain.

As I watched, waiting, he leaned forward. But instead of taking my mouth, he took Gawain into his. I watched this beautiful man doing what I had been doing only moments before, and my mouth went dry. I sat back and became aware of a sudden deep ache between my legs. I had never seen such a thing. Oh, I had heard about these two, mere whispers, but had dismissed them as gossip.

No gossip, this. I watched as Gawain's hand tightened in Galahad's dark curls, and Galahad moaned in response. Gawain chuckled, his voice husky. "You were supposed to kiss _her_, Galahad."

I was still watching, enthralled. I didn't want to interrupt them, didn't want to join in. I just wanted to watch. Gawain called my name, but I paid no mind. Instead, my hand moved between my legs, almost of its own volition.

He called my name again. I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the scene before me and looked up at him. His eyes were merry, twinkling with amusement at my lustful reaction. "We'll do that for you later," he promised. "Kiss him."

"I'm not sure he's going to share you," I replied. I was surprised by the huskiness of my voice.

Gawain smiled at me. "He'll share," he said. "Won't you, Galahad?"

As I watched Galahad pleasuring Gawain, I moved forward and began also to lick his shaft. I could feel Galahad's tongue flicking against mine, the merest brushes of his lips. Our tongues began to seek each other out as we worked our way down Gawain's length to meet in a full kiss.

I could feel Gawain's fingers sliding through my hair, becoming entangled in it and I knew he was doing the same to Galahad. Thinking back to his moans of pleasure still puts a smile on my face.

After enjoying the sensation provided by our tongues against him for a while, Gawain stepped back and reclined in a chair as Galahad and I grew more passionate, continuing to kiss. Then realizing that we were actually kissing each other and belatedly remembering our dislike, we pulled back. From our place on the floor Galahad and I both looked up at Gawain.

"I want to watch you together," he said. "I'll join you later."

Gawain's wish being our command, Galahad and I retired to the bed, where the rivalry that was the basis of our relationship began. We fought for Gawain's attention, fought to provide each other with more pleasure than the other was giving. And where Galahad, I believe, strove constantly to make Gawain jealous by pleasuring me as skillfully as he possibly could.

After much thought, I believe I sought Gawain's attention not so much because I wanted it, but because Galahad didn't want me to have it. There was just something about the young knight that got under my skin, and me under his. It was almost a shame that we disliked each other so much because we were very well matched in bed. Whether we would have come to know each other's bodies so well without Gawain pushing us together, I could not say. But the two of us knew exactly where the other most liked to be touched, and in what ways.

For my part, I had little problem sharing Gawain. I had a great deal of affection for him, could even say I loved him, and I enjoyed him immensely in bed. But I was not possessive of him as Galahad was, for I learned early the futility of it. He did not mind sharing a woman with Gawain, and they did so often. But I believe that I was one of very few women who ever saw Galahad and Gawain touch as lovers, and Galahad grew to regret having opened up that side of their relationship to me.

We women talk. We share information about the men all the time – not out of idle gossip, though that can certainly be a part of it. But so we know whom to watch out for, who to stay away from when they've been drinking. Who has difficulties getting it up at times and what it takes to help him get there. We're a sisterhood, and while we are often rivals, of necessity we watch out for each other.

As I said, I had heard whispers of Galahad and Gawain. They were thought to be lovers, but not because any of the women had seen them together. Because we talk, because we share information, it would have been known. So their more intimate relationship was speculation only, and it remained that way even after I knew otherwise.

I was discreet, and no purpose would be served by flapping my tongue.

Most often when the three of us were together it was the two men pleasuring me, and I them. Very rarely would the two of them ever touch. In fact, I came to wonder if I had imagined our first time together, imagined Galahad's sweet lips pleasuring Gawain.

Then came an occasion when we were all together, and because of a game of chance that I had won, the two of them had to do my bidding. My every whim would be their command.

They had been drinking quite a bit and Gawain was up for anything. Galahad was somewhat less so, but if Gawain and I were inclined to do something, so was Galahad. He did not want to be the one to spoil the fun.

I ordered Galahad to kiss me, which he did, making my knees quite weak in the process. I then ordered Gawain to kiss me, and he pulled me close and gave me a kiss that curled my toes.

I sat down on the bed, and leaned back.

"Now I want to watch you kiss each other," I said.

Galahad shot me a murderous look, one that Gawain did not see. Gawain was amused, and turned to Galahad. "Whatever the lady wants," he said.

He leaned in close to Galahad and kissed him softly on the lips. Galahad held back for a moment but then his hand came up to Gawain's head and pulled him closer.

I watched as they shared a passionate kiss, seemingly forgetting that I was in the room. I didn't mind; I was enjoying the sight of these two beautiful men together. Belatedly, Gawain remembered I was there and pulled away from Galahad. He looked to me for his next order.

I waved my hand expansively. "Whatever you want to do," I said. Then I grinned wickedly and added, "With Galahad." I put my hands behind my head and prepared to watch.

Gawain smiled and pulled the younger knight again into his embrace. I watched as they kissed, and as the elder knight's hand wandered down to fondle Galahad. There was hunger in their embrace, in the sound of their voices, and in the way their hands roamed over the other's body. Again, I had the feeling that it was only the two of them in the room.

I laughed slightly, and unfortunately Gawain heard and looked up at me, a question in his eyes.

"Should I leave you two alone?" I asked teasingly.

"Yes!" snarled Galahad.

At the same time Gawain answered, "No, stay and watch!"

I laughed. "Sorry Galahad, I believe I'll stay and watch, as Gawain says." The young knight glared at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Please – continue," I said. "I'll be very quiet. You won't even know I am here."

I had to smile at Galahad's sour face.

Gawain turned back to Galahad and soon the two lovers were embracing again. I made sure to remain silent, as I did not wish to further interrupt them. I was aching with lust and indecisive about what I would have them do next.

Gawain fell to his knees and lovingly began pleasuring Galahad with his mouth. I watched the younger knight's fingers catching in Gawain's hair, as my own had done so many times, pulling him closer.

"Lay him down on the bed, Gawain," I said in a throaty voice.

Gawain groaned in assent and pushed Galahad onto his back. As Gawain's head lowered and he once again began attending to Galahad's swollen manhood, I caught a glimpse of Galahad's face. He was looking at me and he seemed both angry and anxious.

I knew what he was worried about. He wondered else that I would request of them. What if I wanted to see Gawain take Galahad? In Gawain's current state of inebriation and good humor, he was likely to go along with any request I made. I knew the last thing that Galahad wanted was for me to witness his most intimate moments with his lover.

Truth be told, I considered requesting exactly that. I was curious and I would find it arousing. And I enjoyed having that power over Galahad. He'd never been exactly kind to me, and if the situation had been reversed I wondered how much mercy he would show.

After mulling it over, I decided I would not ask to watch them make love, as I did not truly want to do anything to hurt Galahad. But I was not above using the threat of it to make him uncomfortable.

I had been watching them for far too long, and was now eager to join in. Galahad's beautiful body was prone on the bed and I longed to feel him in my mouth as well.

I crawled over to the pair and joined Gawain in pleasuring the beautiful young knight. Gawain was tiring, and I urged him to let me take over. For a time we tended to Galahad together and then I took him fully into my mouth. Galahad's hands came down on my head, guiding my strokes, while Gawain moved to take me from behind.

I could feel Galahad relax – this was what he was more comfortable with, sharing a woman with Gawain, not being shared. I pleasured him well, and within minutes the young knight began crying out in need and came hard, spurting his seed into my willing mouth. His hands pushed my head down upon his twitching manhood and I swallowed as he filled me.

Moments later, Gawain found his pleasure and collapsed against me with a deep moan of satisfaction.

I had not yet found my pleasure, but I knew I would. These two always left me drained and barely able to walk.

I lay between and on top of my two lovers, all of us out of breath and drenched in sweat. I remembered the look on Galahad's face and smiling, decided to play with him a little.

"I very much enjoyed watching you," I purred to the two men. "I found it very…stimulating."

I heard a low chuckle from Gawain. "Did you now?" he said in his familiar growly voice.

"Mmm," I agreed. "I would see more, mayhap upon our next coming together," I said, looking at Galahad.

"Mayhap," Gawain said. "But what favors are you prepared to grant in return?"

I smiled, a salacious grin full of promise. "What am I not prepared to give?" I said, leaning forward and offering Gawain my tongue, which he eagerly accepted.

Galahad shot me a look of pure anger, but along with Gawain, he pleasured me until I begged them to stop.

When I left that night Galahad was still angry with me. But then, when wasn't he? My interest in seeing the two of them make love bothered him and though I could have eased his mind on the matter, I saw no reason to.

Instead, I gave him a wide smile upon taking my leave of them and noted with pleasure the anxious look on his face.

The next day I was soaking in the baths, enjoying myself when I looked up to see Galahad enter, also prepared to bathe. He was wearing a wrap and nothing else.

He looked around and then headed in my direction. "I was told you were here," he said. "I want to speak with you."

I heaved a sigh. Regarding him languidly I said, "About what?" I thought I knew very well what he wanted to say, and I was proved right.

"I want to talk to you about last night." His face was tight, betraying his anger.

I smiled. "Ah, I thought it might be something like that," I replied. "And what about last night was it that you wished to discuss?"

Galahad looked around to make sure we were alone and then squatted down next to me. "You will never, and I do mean never, ask to see me and Gawain together again. You won't ask to see us kiss, or touch, or…anything else you might be curious about."

"Won't I?" I was feeling uncharacteristically bold, especially to address one of the knights in such a way. But I'd never really seen Galahad as one of the knights, for to me he'd always seemed a petulant child. "And why wouldn't I?"

Galahad's anger exploded, though he was forced to keep his voice low. He hissed at me, "Because that is mine, and it is Gawain's and it has nothing to do with you!"

I kept my calm, which infuriated Galahad even more. "Oh, is that it? I thought it was more that you didn't want me to see you being taken like a woman."

He jumped down into the water beside me, not bothering to take off his wrap. His hand went to my throat, drawing back the other as if to strike me. I felt a moment of fear. I was suddenly aware of his greater size, and the fact that while I might see him as a petulant child he was in fact a very dangerous man. One with a temper.

Though I was afraid, I still could not resist needling him. "Gawain wouldn't like this," I said.

I doubt he would have hit me. He wanted to, I could see, even though it went against his nature to hit a woman. If he was going to do so, I thought he would have done so already. Even so, he did not move his hand from my throat, and he continued to loom over me.

The tension between us grew. He glared down at me, longing to strike, while I looked up at him defiantly, almost daring him to do so.

Slowly the tension turned to something else. I could see it change in Galahad's eyes, I could feel it in the slow dull throb between my legs. In a husky voice, Galahad said, "No, but would he like this?"

Galahad's mouth quickly came down on mine, roughly claiming my lips. At the same time his fingers found the spot between my legs that he had always known just how to find. Unable to stop myself, I opened my legs further to give him access.

I couldn't stand him, but gods, did I want him.

Pulling off his wrap, he quickly impaled me upon his stiffened member. I was unprepared, but I relished the pain of his entry. This was how it needed to be between us right now. Rough, angry. We both had aggressions to take out on each other and we could not do so in front of Gawain.

As we were in a public place, our coming together was of necessity brief and both of us were left unsatisfied. We retreated to my room to finish what we started in the baths.

The sex was violent and lengthy. He took me against the wall of my room, upon my floor and on all fours. I rode him hard as he sat in a chair, until the chair broke and we fell to the ground. Laughing together, we lay upon the floor holding each other amid the ruins. Then our laughter stopped and I pushed him to the floor and rode him until we both cried out.

We both came away from it with bites and bruises and with our lust curiously not sated, though we had both climaxed several times.

For the next several weeks we carried on a strange sort of affair. When we saw each other in public our eyes would meet and our lust would rise. There were secret kisses, hidden caresses. We would grope in secluded corners, I would stroke him under the table. He would leave the tavern for a few moments and I would follow shortly after, falling to my knees to take him into my mouth. If I were feeling particularly evil I would decline to finish him off, leaving him in a state of need for the remainder of the evening.

Through it all we kept it as secret as possible. Though nobody would have cared, and Gawain least of all, it was the clandestine nature of it that kept our lust running high. And oddly enough, we still bickered and sniped at each other as we always had. That we wanted each other did not increase our liking of the other.

Gawain discovered us one night in Galahad's room. Though there was no reason for either of us to feel that way, guilt was all over our faces. Our being together confused Gawain, as did our reactions. And neither of us could explain it, other than we both felt as if we had been cheating on him. That was particularly silly because it simply wasn't in Gawain to be jealous of his lovers. But maybe Galahad and I both needed him to be.

Galahad and I still got on each other's nerves, but the outright warfare was over. And we no longer battled for Gawain's attention, for we had something between us that belonged only to Galahad and to me and had nothing to do with Gawain. Even so, we shared that with Gawain, and he would watch as Galahad took me, watched as we laughed and caressed and sometimes broke the furniture. As Galahad also sometimes watched me with Gawain. I'm sure at times Gawain felt a little left out, but he only ever needed to touch one of us to be instantly included. Our golden lover was always foremost in our minds.

I did not ask again to see Gawain and Galahad together, or even hint at it. It was something between the two of them and I would no longer seek to intrude on that. But one evening, Galahad set me down in a chair and bade me sit still and enjoy myself. I wondered what my two lovers had in store for this evening but I was not to wonder long, for Gawain joined Galahad on the bed and reached for him.

And I watched.


	9. After Tristan

**Miggyrow:** I'm so glad you liked the Galahad chapter. The problem I have with slash is a lot of times it is so improbable. Somebody puts two characters together and has them go at it like rabbits for no apparently no reason whatsoever.There was a bit of subtext between those two in the movie, well, to me anyway.Not as much as Lancelot and Arthur, but you could find it if you wanted to. And if you look at the times and who they were around - it was very normal in Roman society for men to be lovers, so why would that not have rubbed off on them? Anyway, glad you thought it was plausible.

**Disclaimer:** Obviously not making any money from there is really no reason to sue me.

**Rating:** M

**Warning: This chapter contains a scene of violence/sexual violence and deals with the aftermath. It is not explicit but if you think that you will be disturbed please do not read it.**

I changed for a time after my encounter with Tristan. I became louder, more brittle; trying to put forth the image that I was hard and callous. I would show off, compete with the other girls for attention. Anything to push away a man who might want to come to me for comfort, to be held, or who might bring anything to me that vaguely resembled emotion. In short, I acted like the cheap slags whose behavior I had once disdained.

Gawain noticed a difference in me and expressed his concern, but I told him I was fine. He believed me, which was just as well. How could I tell him what was wrong, when he was sometimes part of the problem?

Gawain was very good to me, and there was real affection between us. But sometimes he would come to me, speaking little. Quickly relieving his needs with me, he would leave shortly thereafter. It wasn't just Gawain – they could all be cold and impersonal, lost in their own needs. Couplings like that served as a harsh reminder of who and what I really was.

I was tired of men I cared about taking from me and leaving only coin in return. Oh, I had fun times with them, and I enjoyed myself often. And I knew they felt affection for me. But I often felt that when they left me I would not be given a second thought until they felt the need to ease their lust again. And if I was unavailable, there was always someone else. Any of us would do.

I began soliciting the lower ranking Romans more often, men that I didn't know well. When they got up and left right after the act I felt relieved, not lonely as I did with my more regular lovers. The sex with these men meant nothing to me and their coin was just as good.

Despite my crass behavior, Tristan sought me out again several weeks after our first encounter.His demeanor was subdued and my first instinct was to simply hold him, for I knew that was what he needed. He wanted the feeling that someone cared, to forget for a time whatever demons he fought this night.

But what about what I needed?

I could give my body, but not give of myself to a man who would throw a few coins on my table and call it even. So, when he reached for me I bade him to slow down and take his time. My intention was to undress for him, perform for him, and pleasure him as impersonally I would any other man.

He knew the difference right away, and it confused him.

"What are you doing?" he asked me. I was kissing and caressing him as I removed his clothing.

"Taking real good care of you, lovey," I said. "Just lay back and relax."

He did as I asked, lying on the bed. I continued and his body responded to me, but he gently pushed me away. "You are different from before," he said.

I thought about opening up to him, letting him know how much he'd hurt me, but then I realized his likely reaction would only be pity. I would rather him look at me with contempt than pity.

Bitterly, I said, "You buy a whore, that's what you get."

He looked at me with his usual unfathomable expression. "Is that how you want to be treated?"

"It's your coin," I said. "Do what you want."

He pushed me roughly back onto the bed. After quickly unlacing his trousers, he pushed my skirts up and shoved my legs apart. Settling himself in between them, he asked, "You're sure this is how you want it?"

I didn't. I wanted warmth and comfort, what we'd had before. I wanted to hold him and give him what he needed, in the hopes that he would think of me fondly. But what I would get for all that was the coin on the table, and the slam of the door afterwards. I looked past him, to the ceiling. "As I said, you're paying me. Take what you want."

He looked into my face, but I avoided his glance. I could feel his hardness against my thigh, along with his growing anger. He'd come here for comfort, not games. I hoped he would take me like this, roughly, coldly, for it would further harden my heart.

In the end he did not take me, but instead left with a growl of frustration.

I felt that same frustration. His compassion and decency was the last thing I wanted.

I went back to the tavern, seeking out baser company, men who would not invoke any feelings in me but relief upon their leave-taking. I found it in the form of two Roman soldiers, rough-looking men whom I would normally not give a second glance to. They were clearly interested in an encounter, but I had reservations – doubts that dissipated after glancing over to the knights' table and seeing Gawain with his latest favorite on his lap. I would not be missed, nor would they care. I was nothing to any of them. After a brief conversation and the exchange of coin, I followed the two soldiers outside.

Instead of going back to my room they took me to the alleyway where one pushed me to my knees. I knew what was expected of me but my earlier reservations came back in full force. I found myself looking around in dismay at where I was and felt a sudden sense of disgust and self-loathing. I was cheapening myself, debasing myself. I knew why - I sought to bring myself to a point low enough where I could never expect someone to care for me. That way I could not be disappointed when no one did.

Somewhere in the process I stopped caring for myself.

I thought of Gawain, who might sometimes walk out my door too distracted to kiss me goodbye but would never put me on my knees in the alleyway. Nor could I imagine any of them doing so. They did not love and cherish me, but neither did they degrade me. I thought of Tristan who had left me in frustration rather than take me as coldly as I had dared him to. Suddenly, the occasional disregard with which I was treated seemed such a small thing to be upset over.

I suddenly had to get out of there, away from this reeking alleyway, away from these filthy men. I got to my feet, reaching into my pocket to give them their money back. Though I tried to excuse myself gracefully, these were not the kind of men who accepted excuses. They were too far-gone with lust and drink to allow me to change my mind.

They needed little enough excuse for violence anyway, and my rejection angered them.

They hit me, knocked me to the ground and tore my clothes. I fought them, but the two of them were seasoned soldiers and my feeble blows and kicks served only to further inflame them. I tried to protect my face, curling into a ball on the ground. Cuts would leave scars, and men did not like a woman to look ill-used.

After what seemed an eternity of kicks and blows to the body, it was a relief when they stopped and got down to the business of why they were there in the first place. The first had his way with me on the hard cobblestones of the alley, while the other held me down. Not that it was necessary at that point, for the fight was gone out of me, and I would rather be taken than beaten anyway. He finished quickly and the second was getting ready to take his turn, when suddenly he was violently pulled away from me. Once he saw who had interrupted their sport, the first soldier released me and ran into the darkness, abandoning his friend to Tristan's not so tender mercies.

I crawled away, pulling my clothes around me, and watched as Lancelot arrived to pull Tristan off the soldier. I'd never seen them engage in anything more serious than a minor brawl in the tavern. Oh, I'd heard their tales, but hearing was not the same as seeing. Tristan was frightening and I could not imagine confronting him in such a state, but Lancelot handled him fearlessly.

I curled into a ball and buried my face in my arms. When Tristan came to me and picked me up I did not resist.

He took me to my room and set me down on the bed. I sat there and watched as he poured water into the basin on my little table. He searched for a clean cloth, and with my eyes I followed his movements around the room. Finally he found one, just when I had been considering that it would be easier for me to simply tell him where they were.

I thought I should say something, at least thank him, but I didn't feel like speaking. I found calm in being silent.

As Tristan brushed my hair back out of my face and began to clean away the blood, Gawain walked into the room.

"We got the other one," he said. "Galahad and Dag are dealing with him." He looked at me. "How is she doing?"

Tristan shrugged. "She'll live," he said.

Gawain looked into my face and called my name, asked me if I was alright. I looked past him. I was fine; I just wanted to be quiet for a while.

"Why isn't she saying anything?" he asked.

Tristan rinsed out the cloth in his hands and applied it to my swollen cheek. "She'll speak when she wants to," he said quietly.

Gawain took my hands in his. Gently he asked, "What were you doing out there with men like that?" He searched my face before going on. "Did you not know what would happen?"

I could have answered him, but it would have been more effort than I wanted to put forth just then. And what would I have said? That I was with them precisely because they wouldn't treat me well? Well, I'd gotten that, hadn't I?

"Gawain," said Tristan.

"What?" Gawain asked.

"Maybe you should give her the lecture later," Tristan said.

"I wasn't…" Gawain began, and then he trailed away. "Are you going to stay here with her?" he asked Tristan.

Tristan nodded his head.

"Good. There are some things that need to be taken care of," Gawain said. Then looking at me, he spoke to me again. "Is there anything you need?"

I could tell he was worried at my unresponsiveness, so I shook my head.

Gawain seemed relieved that I had responded in some way. He took my hand and said, "They'll pay for what they did."

I know that was meant to make me feel better, but it worried me. There would be repercussions. Roman soldiers being damaged for offending a whore would not be looked upon favorably.

Looking into my face, he said softly, "I would kill them if I could." He stroked my hair and said, "You must be more careful. I could not bear it if something happened to you."

I'd never heard him speak like that. I knew he cared, but he cared about many women. I put it aside in my mind as something to mull over later.

It was nice that he had shown concern, but I was relieved when he left. Tristan's calm was more comforting. He was right – I would live. It wasn't the first time I'd had a man that I didn't want – the Roman soldier was just one more, and it really didn't matter.

If I told myself that enough times then that would make it be true.

I watched Tristan's hands, and saw that his knuckles were bruised. I took his hand in both of mine and raised it to my lips, kissing it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?" he asked.

I was sorry that he'd hurt his knuckles. I was sorry for not opening my arms to him when he needed me. I was sorry for being angry with him. But to say all that would have disturbed my tranquility.

When I didn't answer he merely said, "You can tell me later."

I was grateful to him for not pushing me.

"You're a mess," he said "Do you want to wash up?"

I supposed I would. My clothes were dirty and I felt filthy. I nodded, realizing that he could not hear my thoughts.

Tristan dumped the bloody water in the basin out the window and poured new. Then he helped me to undress. His hands were gentle and efficient. A groan of pain escaped me as I raised my arms, and he probed was the beginnings of a fine bruise on my torso.

"You may have a cracked rib," he said. "I'll get Dagonet while you wash."

Inwardly I groaned. I did not want Dag to see me like this, but I did not feel like speaking the words that Tristan would only ignore anyway. "I'll be back shortly," Tristan said.

I walked over to the basin and found the soap, dipped the cloth into the water. I washed myself as best I could; I was sore and stiff.

When I was finished I wrapped myself in a blanket and went to the bed. I stared at the wall and allowed my mind to drift as I waited. I felt very peaceful, not thinking about anything in particular, not allowing myself to worry or fret or care.

I heard a knock at the door, but did not answer. They would either come in or eventually leave, it did not make a difference to me. After a moment, the door opened and Dag and Tristan came in.

As I held the blanket around my shoulders, Dag looked at the bruises on my face. He asked me the usual questions, if I was all right, where did it hurt. But I was fine. He kept trying to get me to talk but it was just so comfortable not to. I thought that it might be nice to stay as I was, not worrying about anything or caring about anything. Not speaking. Just sitting enveloped in the pleasant haze that had come over me.

He eventually gave up and told Tristan that my cheekbone did not seem to be cracked and that I would need no stitches for my split lip. I idly wondered if it would leave a scar.

Dag stood me up and gently pulled on the blanket, wanting to examine the bruises on my body. I held on to it tightly. He tried again with more insistence, uncurling my fingers from the edges and though it distressed me I allowed him to take it from me. I did not fear either of these men but felt vulnerable without the protection of my blanket.

Seeing my discomfort, Tristan wrapped the blanket around my waist and I felt somewhat less distressed. As Dagonet probed my bruises I made little noises of discontent. He told me that he wanted to wrap my ribs and that I was likely to have blood in my water for the next few days, and to let him know if it went on any longer than that. He asked me twice if I understood. I did.

He didn't like that I was not speaking and said as much to Tristan.

"She is resting," Tristan said.

What a perfect phrase for it - I was resting. I wondered how Tristan knew.

My ribs were wrapped and Dagonet was gone. I was back in my blanket sitting on the bed, Tristan sitting in a chair across the room.

A knock sounded at the door and Lancelot entered. After speaking softly to Tristan, he came to me and lightly stroked my hair. I could see the concern on his face, but he tried to make light of the situation.

"Leave it to you to liven up an evening! I was just thinking tonight how much I would enjoy pounding some Roman heads into the ground, " he said. "And here you provide the perfect excuse."

I did think it was funny, and so much like Lancelot. Had he been maudlin that would indeed have been cause for concern. I did not laugh, however. It confused Lancelot that I did not react to him, and he looked in my face, searching. I avoided his gaze. I wished they would leave me be.

Apparently deciding that attempting a conversation would be pointless, he reached for my hairbrush and sat me down on the bed. As he began combing through the snarls and pulling out bits of dirt, Tristan looked at him askance.

"What are you doing?" the scout asked.

"She likes having her hair brushed," Lancelot said.

I did, but I think it was something that he enjoyed almost as much. He always seemed to be so pleased to brush my hair until it shone, running his fingers through the length of it.

"Why don't you get her a clean shift?" the dark knight said. "They're in that drawer over there."

Again, Tristan looked at Lancelot oddly. "How do you know where she keeps her undergarments?"

"I have been here before, you know," said Lancelot.

"And you spend your time going through her belongings?" Tristan asked.

"Just bring it to me – or do I have to get it?" Lancelot said.

I allowed myself a small smile. I had once chided Lancelot when he had forgotten payment several times in a row. After that, when feeling particularly mischievous, he would hide coins somewhere in the room during the night so that I would think he did not pay. Upon being asked, he would direct me to wherever the coin was hidden, feigning outrage that I would think him so low as to try to cheat me. And from time to time he would leave a small gift or trinket hidden away for me to find later. I could imagine what Tristan would have made of all that, had Lancelot chosen to explain his familiarity with the contents of my drawers.

Lancelot saw my smile. "There you are," he said. "Are you coming back to us?"

Tristan found a shift and tossed it to Lancelot. Standing up, I raised my arms as he dressed me in it, and then I sank back down on the bed and yawned – it was quite late and I was very tired.

"I think that's my signal to leave," said Lancelot. Carefully he enfolded me into an embrace and kissed the top of my head. "You need to take care," he said. "If Myrna had not gone to the alleyway and seen, you might have met a bad end."

His embraced tightened, and then perhaps realizing that he was on the verge of showing an actual emotion, he smiled and kissed my nose. "And we can't have that - you're my favorite girl, you know."

If I had been myself I would have come back with a witty rejoinder. He had a favorite girl for every day of the week. Give him enough women and he would have a favorite for every hour of the day. But his flirtatious charm was one of the reasons I was so fond of him.

After Lancelot left, Tristan turned to me. "Get some rest," he said, and then he reached for the door latch. "And lock the door behind me," he said sternly.

I nodded absently and then he was gone.

I pulled my knees up and lay my head down upon them. I knew I needed to get up and lock the door, but that would surely wait for a few moments longer. My eyelids grew heavy and I closed them, just for a moment.

I was startled when the door opened again. "When were you going to lock the door – after a good night's sleep?" Tristan said impatiently.

I sighed heavily and lay on my side. Now even Tristan was buzzing in my ear.

I heard him grumble as he closed the door and locked it. His footsteps were heavy and I heard the chair creak as he settled himself. I wanted to tell him that he could leave, that I would be fine without him, but I had to admit that I found his presence comforting.

TBC


	10. Falling in Love

**Stokely:** Thank you so much for reviewing and for liking my story. I'm sorry I didn't update for so long but I wasn't quite sure where I wanted to go with this and I did another chapter that I decided I didn't want to do and then I did another one. So, here it is and I hope you like it.

**Shevaun:** Glad you like it. It's sometimes a little uncomfortable to write because of the first person narrative and because of that also more difficult to indicate what the other characters are feeling, because you're seeing them through the writer's eyes. But it's been fun and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**dellis:** Yeah, we all like seeing our knights be chivalrous, that's when they're at their best.Though I'm not certain how true to life that would have been I would rather think they'd care even about a lowly whore.

**Cardeia:** I love your reviews, and I'm so glad you liked this chapter. I think that it often happens that we take people for granted and then when something happens or nearly happens it sort of wakes us up. I think the character got into the habit of taking the knights for granted, forgetting that their little courtesies and niceties were actually a rarity for someone of her status. And then the knights sort of took her for granted, thinking that she'd always be there and she'd always be able to handle herself and be okay. And that whole thing sort of shook her up and made her realize that she didn't have it that bad; that it could always be worse. And it told her that they care. Sometimes life is just a matter of seeing that while you may not have it great, it could always be worse, and being satisfied with that. And that's pretty much all this character is going to have. My thought regarding Tristan is that he is not capable of great emotion, or at least of expressing it through anything other than action. I think many men are like that, but not necessarily as emotionally stunted as the scout is. He may be in love with her, he may just be fond of her. Maybe she's just something to focus his attention on while he's hanging out at the fortress waiting for another battle. At any rate it wouldn't matter because nothing would ever come of it anyway - it's not even a possibility.

**Rating:** M - nothing to be scared of in this chapter.

After the incident with the soldiers, I became more aware of Tristan. I would take note of where he was in the room, or if he wasn't there at all. When the knights came back from a mission, he was the one I would look for first. I would make a point to serve him his wine, and try to engage in friendly conversation in hopes that he would be interested, but he never seemed to be. However, friendly conversation was as far as I was willing to take it, lest I risk another rebuff.

A few days after the incident, I had gone up to Tristan as he sat in the tavern. My stomach was in knots, which was odd in itself – he was just another man, after all. When he looked up at me I nearly forgot what I was there to say and I believe I made a right fool of myself.

"You came to me for something the other evening," I said. "I was wondering if you were still interested."

Tristan looked at me with his usual inscrutable expression. I always hated that about him, not knowing what he was thinking unless he wanted you to.

"I have little coin," said Tristan.

"You can pay me later if you'd like," I said. I really didn't care if he had money or not – but I did not want him to think this was personal interest, merely a business transaction.

If possible, his expression became even more veiled. "I don't take something that I can't pay for," he said firmly.

I took my leave of him as gracefully as I could, telling myself that it was not a rejection. He'd been so kind and so caring that night and I didn't understand why he was so changed now. Maybe he thought I had approached him out of gratitude. If I had, would that have been such a bad thing?

I continued to make an effort to be in his vicinity when the knights would return from being gone. He would speak cordially to me, thank me for bringing him his wine, but there was very little sign of interest on his part. I would watch as he left with other women and it made me feel inadequate.

Then came one day in particular when the knights returned, all safe and sound, and I again breathed a sigh of relief. However, when they came to the tavern, Tristan was not among them. I waited for a time, thinking he was perhaps caring for his horse or had some other duties he needed to attend to. But he did not appear and upon asking casually, none of the other knights seemed to know of any reason for him not to be there, for he was not injured. It seemed he was sometimes in the habit of remaining in his room and they were unconcerned.

I must have gone back and forth in my mind a dozen times deciding what to do. Finally I stopped thinking and walked to his quarters.

I stood hesitantly in front of the door, hand poised to knock. I turned to walk away, and then before I could stop myself I turned quickly back and knocked on the door. There was no answer, and having already committed myself to it, I knocked again. I was about to turn away and leave when I heard a voice from inside the room. Slowly I opened the door and looked in.

Tristan was there alone and slouched in a chair. Unlike the other knights who had cleaned up and changed upon their arrival, he was still fully dressed and filthy from battle and a hard ride.

"Tristan?" I asked hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

He did not speak, and though I was concerned, I realized that if he wished for company he would not have sought out the solitude of his room. "I'm sorry to intrude," I said. I began to leave and close the door, but then I heard him.

"Stay," he said.

I came back into the room, but was not sure what to do. He did not seem to be in the mood for conversation; indeed he was so quiet that he seemed to have retreated into himself. He seemed weary to the bone, so tired in fact that it was more than he could do to stir himself.

I remembered how he had been with me the night he'd cared for me, how reassuring his nearness had been. Though I had not been unduly distressed or injured, his presence had been comforting. I saw no reason why I could not be a comforting presence for him.

"You're a mess," I said softly. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I fetched a washbasin and a cloth and began with his face, cleaning the blood and the dirt and the dust from the road away. I tried to see him as if he was a small child and I was his caretaker, wiping away the grime. But my eyes were drawn to his cheekbones, with their distinctive tattoos, and his lips, full and sensual. I longed to trace them with my fingertips.

Mentally I chided myself. I needed to pull myself together, for he needed someone to care for him now, not seduce him. I concentrated on his neck and behind his ears, before returning the cloth to the basin.

"Alright, let's get that tunic off," I said in what I hoped was a businesslike fashion. With his assistance, I pulled it off him and threw it into the corner. I would take it to the laundry later.

I began to wipe down his chest, his arms, and his back. I tried not to notice the mat of fur that covered his chest, tapering down to a thin trail that disappeared into his trousers, tried to ignore the lean musculature of his abdomen. Now was not the time to be salaciously gazing over his body. And it wasn't as if I was unfamiliar with the male form. He was a fine figure of a man, to be sure, but I'd known many such.

I helped him strip away the rest of his clothing and as I continued to wash his body I reflected that I should have called for a bath. A tub would have been much more efficient, though it would have taken longer to prepare. I tried to wash him as impersonally as possible, to clean him without stroking or caressing, but still remain gentle. I dried him off and bade him sit on his bed, while I washed his legs and feet.

My task done, I picked up the basin to empty it one last time, groaning as I stood up. My back ached from my exertions. Finding a likely looking blanket, I wrapped it around him to keep him from catching a chill.

"I'm going to get these clothes to the laundry and stop by the kitchens," I said. "You must be famished."

As I turned to leave his hand snaked out and grasped my wrist tightly. "I'll be back soon," I said gently.

His hand did not loosen its grip, and I stood before him unsure what to do.

"Tristan," I said softly. "What do you need? Don't you want to eat something?"

There was an almost imperceptible shake of the head. I felt such a deep sadness as I watched him, staring through me. What had he seen, what had he been through that made him go away like this? I wondered how often he came back from battle and sat in silence, alone and uncared-for?

My hand came up and stroked his hair, stroked the side of his face. With a small sigh, he pressed his cheek into my hand and closed his eyes.

Pulling him against me, I held him to my breast.

He was still for a moment and then his arms came around me, pulling me close. We stayed this way for some little while, Tristan's face buried against my softness while I tried to comfort away whatever troubles were plaguing him.

Then slowly, I could feel a change between us, a growing awareness of each other's bodies. I could feel his breathing begin to quicken; the heat of it against my breasts. His arms tightened around me, hands reaching, grasping, pulling.

He tugged at my clothing and I released him so that I could peel away what his hands did not remove. As the last of my clothes fell away he pushed me to the bed. He did not speak; there were no sounds other than the harsh rasp of his breath. Spreading my thighs, he pushed into me without ceremony and I stifled a gasp of pain, for I was unprepared for his entry.

Though his taking of me was rough and fierce, there was a feeling of need, of intensity in the way he clung to me. Fingers that dug painfully into my shoulders would leave bruises on the morrow. He held me tightly, my face buried in his chest, and there was a moment of panic when I tried to draw breath and found that I could not. I fought to turn my head so that I was once again able to breathe.

In his frenzy, there were no kisses, no caresses, no regard. With another man I might have gotten the feeling that I didn't exist at all. But with Tristan, I felt at that moment that I was the only thing in the world.

He found his release, shuddering against me. Still, he clung to me, burying his face in my neck while I stroked his back and held him tightly. We lay in silence for a long time and then finally he spoke.

"You should not come to me when I am like this," he said quietly.

"You told me to stay," I reminded him, stroking his hair.

He could not argue with that point, and fell silent again. I lay by his side until the sound of his breathing told me that he slept. Covering us both with the blankets, I curled up next to him and also fell into slumber.

The next morning I woke to find Tristan watching me.

"Good morning," I smiled.

He nodded to me. "Morning," he said. His eyes dipped from my face to my shoulders, and he raised his hand, running his fingers over the bruises he had put on me. I could see the regret on his face.

"They don't hurt," I reassured him.

"I should not have done that," he said.

"You are hardly the first to leave bruises on my body," I said, matter-of-factly. "Nor will you be the last." My fingers traced the row of half-moon cuts on his chest where my nails had dug into his skin. "I suppose I should apologize for those," I said.

His hand came up to cover mine, and pressed it against his chest for a moment. Then he abruptly let go and turned away from me.

I put my hand on his arm, and felt him shudder, shaking me off of him. "Why do you always avoid me?" I asked him softly.

There was a moment of silence before he broke it. "Have you ever considered that I find your attentions tiresome?" he asked sharply.

My breath caught in my throat and I drew back. As coldly as I could manage I said, "Then I shall remove myself."

Quietly and with as much dignity as I could, I got up from the bed and began to get dressed. I forbade myself to cry and bit my tongue with my teeth to distract myself. I headed for the door, and suddenly Tristan spoke, calling my name.

I stopped at the door, my back stiff.

"I didn't mean that."

I supposed that was meant to mollify me, and was as close as I was likely to get to an apology. I did not know why he treated me in such a fashion and I was just about beyond caring. I could not reconcile this surly and distant man with the more caring one that I glimpsed far too infrequently.

I inclined my head in acknowledgement of what he'd said, and reached to open the door.

"Wait!" he said. I turned to see what he wanted now. He reached for his purse, took out a couple of coins and held them out to me.

"It's all I have to give you," he said quietly.

I raised my own hand and he dropped the coins into my palm. "I suppose it is," I said sadly.

Though I still noticed when Tristan was around, I stopped approaching him. There were simpler and more joyous men in my life, I did not need a moody and complicated one. All the same, I would gaze at the bruises between my thighs and on my shoulders and remember how he had put them there. I felt a strange sense of loss when they finally disappeared.

I would see him sometimes, sitting alone and observing the goings-on in the tavern. I recalled how we sat together in silent companionship, how comfortable it had been. I wanted to do so again, but self-preservation dictated that I keep my distance.

A couple of weeks went by and I woke one night to someone knocking on my door. Half asleep, I answered to find Tristan standing before me. He was unsteady, and the smell of wine emanated from him.

Though my heart thrilled to the sight of him my instincts told me to send him away. There were plenty of other women he could find comfort with, after all. "It's late," I started to say, but he moved forward and kissed me before I could finish.

That kiss completely undid me. It was the kiss of a man with something to say, and the way he looked into my eyes made me forget every reservation I had about letting him in my door. He was gentle and considerate and I felt real caring in every kiss, every brush of his fingers, every stroke of his hand. Just the memory of it makes me catch my breath.

He was gone before I woke in the morning, having left his coins on the table.

That night I saw him sitting at the table with the other knights. I came up behind him and wound my arms around his neck, stroking his chest. Into his ear I whispered, "Come to me tonight?"

"Nay, we're off early in the morning," he replied tersely.

Wondering why I'd walked into yet another rejection, or indeed that I was so surprised by it, I moved on. There were tables full of men wanting more drink and I was kept busy for the remainder of the night. I went to my bed alone and was again awakened by the sound of knocking at my door.

This time I remained in my bed, though the knocking took on an insistent quality. I did not know if it was Tristan, but I would not take the chance. Something about him wore away the shield I had tried to put around my heart and nothing good would come of continuing to see him. Finally the pounding at my door ceased and I heard the sound of footsteps walking away. I relaxed, but it was a long time before sleep found me.

The knights were gone for several weeks and upon their return my heart leaped at the sight of Tristan, back safe and sound once again. My dreams had been haunted with thoughts of him and his lovemaking, but my memory of his cold treatment afterwards was enough to dissuade me from the folly of approaching him.

When he showed interest in me I told him that my courses were upon me and that I was unavailable. It was a lie,for my courses rarely came upon me ever since I had rooted out my last child. Not that he had any way of knowing that, but the look he gave made me feel that he saw straight through my excuses.

A week later there was another late-night knock at my door. Again I resolved not to answer it, but then I heard his voice calling my name, telling me he knew I was there.

I opened the door with great reluctance. I could not run away from this forever.

"You cannot say that your courses are upon you," he said. "For I know you were with Quintus Sestius last night."

"Tristan," I began.

"Am I somehow unacceptable to you? Do I smell? Perform badly? Do I not pay you well?" he asked me calmly.

"You know none of those are true," I said.

"Then what?" he asked me.

"Do not ask me that," I said. "For I cannot tell you. All I ask is that you leave me be."

I moved to close the door, but his hand barred me. "Please," I said.

"Kiss me, and I will leave you be," Tristan said.

My heart thumped. "Just one kiss?" I asked.

"Just one," he confirmed.

I leaned forward uncertainly. I thought I was prepared, but his kiss once again swept me away, for he kissed me with not just his mouth but his entire body. I could feel the length of him against me, the strength in his lean form, and his hardness pushing against me. His arms came around me, pulling my head against his and with a groan of despair I gave in to him.

Once again, he gazed lovingly into my face and held me tenderly as if he cared when I knew on the morrow he would revert to his usual cold demeanor. But still, it was so lovely to give in to those feelings, so easy to believe in them in the heat of the moment. At long last he brought me to rapture and I cried out.

Tears ran down my face at the beauty of what we had done together, and he tenderly traced their path down my cheeks, wiping them away with his fingers. "What is this?" he asked me.

In answer I merely shook my head. No good would come of telling him of my feelings, for I believed that he himself was incapable of them. I reflected that I should feel ecstatic, floating on air, but instead I felt a sense of dread. I disliked being so out of control.

As we lay together afterwards he surprised me by speaking, something other men did as a matter of course, but Tristan only rarely. He spoke of the first time he'd seen me. I recalled the day as well, though not him specifically. It had been Gawain who had stepped forward after all, and he that I most remembered from that day.

"You looked so frightened," said Tristan. "So fragile."

I had never known I had made an impression on Tristan one way or the other.

"Had I been Gawain," he said, "I would not have given you back."

"He had no choice," I said. I was rather dumbfounded by the turn this conversation had taken.

"There is always a choice," Tristan said firmly. "And I would not have given you back."

I expected little the next morning, but was pleasantly surprised by another bout of tender lovemaking before he left me. The afterglow of that stayed with me for the remainder of the day. Surely he felt something for me. How could he touch me in that way and not feel something?

Still, I did not put my hopes in a repeat performance, so that night I found myself by Gawain's side at the table. Tristan was there along with the rest of the knights, and the drink flowed. In fact I found myself imbibing quite a bit; something I rarely did. Men did not like a woman who was sloppy drunk. But tonight I was among friends and was not seeking coin. I remained upon Gawain's lap for the best part of the evening, and his good humor was infectious. The wine that I had downed was making me feel very affectionate.

"I love you," I said to a surprised Gawain, gazing affectionately into his face. I reached up and gave him a kiss.

From the next chair over I could hear Galahad snicker. My lip curled as I regarded him. "Nay, not like that, you dolt!"

I surveyed the table, and the knights who were looking at me with varying degrees of amusement on their faces. "I love all of you," I said expansively, raising my cup of wine. "You're the best men I know!"

Galahad was still chuckling and I looked at him. "Except for you. You annoy me."

He moved closer to me. "You may not love me," he murmured into my ear, "but you love how I make you feel." His hand slid between my legs and I gasped in response. Pulling his head closer to mine, I caught him in a deep kiss.

I ended it with a groan and shoved him back towards his chair. "Very well," I conceded. "I love…certain things about you."

He smiled in triumph while the other knights hooted, save for Tristan who was not known for his sense of humor and had never hooted that I was aware.

"Speaking of love," Galahad went on, "Does anybody here want to take over Rowena from me?" Rowena was the lass who had been warming his bed most frequently of late.

"Tiring of her already, are you?" I asked, contempt dripping from my voice.

"I think it's about time she moved on, yes," he said. He looked at the other knights. "She has taken to crying in my bed."

There was a general murmur of understanding from the knights. "That is a problem," said Lancelot. "You know they're serious about you when the tears start.Time indeed to extricate yourself."

Horrified, my eyes flickered over to Tristan, whose eyes met mine before sliding away. All of a sudden the wine-induced happy mood changed to one of abject humiliation. My heart had been laid bare before Tristan, who no doubt pitied me for my pathetic display of emotion – one that could not possibly be returned in a like fashion.

"I am not feeling well," I said, as I excused myself from the table. I hurriedly left the tavern and made my way back to my room. Once inside I halfway expected to hear the knock on the door that would be Tristan. I do not know if I was more relieved or devastated that the knock never came.

The next time I served him at the table his hand covered mine, staying me from my planned swift departure. I watched his long fingers and flushed with the memory of the things they did to my body.

"Come to me later," he said.

"I cannot," I said.

"Your courses again?" he asked.

I remained silent.

"So, come to me."

I sagged in defeat. "Why me?" I asked.

He was pensive for a time and then he said, "You bring me peace."

"And you bring me anything but peace," I returned. Tears began to sting my eyes. "Do you feel anything for me?" I asked him.

"I think you know that I do," he said.

Tears began to run down my face and I resolved to just be out with it, pride be damned. "If that is true, then please go elsewhere for your pleasures. I throw my heart at your feet every time we are together and then the next day it is like it never happened."

The look on his face was sad. "I cannot be other than what I am," he said. "If I cannot give you what you want, then I am sorry for that, but do not ask me to leave you be."

"There are other women here," I said. "You can find your release with any number of them."

His hand reached for mine, fingers stroking me gently. "I do not get from them what I get from you," he said.

"Nay, for none of them are fool enough to love you!" I cried.

"Do you not know what a comfort that is to me?" Tristan whispered.

"And your comfort takes precedence over my pain," I stated sadly. "How like a man."

His hand fell away from mine, laying on the table like a dead thing. The silence that stretched between us was the first uncomfortable one that we had ever known. Finally he broke it.

"I will miss you," he said. "You brought something to me that I have not often had." He reached out and fondly stroked my head. "But I would not be the cause of your further unhappiness."

Tears ran anew down my face, and I nodded my head. Though I should have been relieved, I felt horribly selfish in my victory and strangely bereft. I grabbed his hand tightly and kissed it.

He looked at me, and I saw the sorrow in his eyes. "I gave you all I had in me to give," he said. "I am sorry it wasn't enough."

I walked away from him, back to my room and I grieved.

A woman's heart is an odd thing. It can want for something with everything it has, but upon getting it, finds that it wanted the opposite. Such was the case with Tristan. Being with him had made me feel alive as much as his disregard after had made me feel like the walking dead. I had longed to be free of the pain but in doing so had lost the thing that had given me joy.

I watched him as much as I ever had, only now I knew that there would be no knock at the door, no warm kisses full of meaning. When he was alone and seemed sad I felt guilty that I had removed myself as an avenue of comfort for him. What was I here for if not to offer comfort? But at what price to myself?

Either way I would pay a price, and unhappiness was going to be a constant in my life. The only question seemed to be, would I have some joy to go along with that unhappiness?I knew that what he had to give me was not going to be enough, but could it suffice? Wasn't a little better than living without him at all?

That evening found him at his usual table, watching the denizens of the tavern. We had not spoken and I was unsure of what my reception would be. Nonetheless, if nothing was ventured, nothing would be gained, and I fetched a pitcher of wine and took it over to him.

He watched me as I brought the wine and set it on the table in front of him. I stood for a moment and then took a seat by his side. We sat for some time in companionable silence, sharing the pitcher of wine, and watching the goings on. Finally he stood up, the chair scraping against the floor of the tavern.

I looked up at him, and he reached out to me with his hand.

"Are you coming?" he asked.

I hesitated a moment. I would not be able to change him. He would love me well tonight, but could I live with his disregard until the next time he chose to come to me? Would tonight be enough to last until then? I looked down the years to come, knowing that in time he would leave and all the love I spent on him would have been wasted. What for me then?

But all I could count on was now.

With my eyes wide open, I placed my hand in his and followed him to his room.


	11. Random Memories

**Celosia:** Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to review. No, they're not pretty stories - I tried to make it somewhat realistic without being too much so. I really think that her life would have actually been pretty horrible, not to mention short. So, tryingfor something between Pretty Woman and reality. :)

**Miggyrow:** Thanks for the review! I just read your two latest and like them very much - am curious to see what happens when Tanjin's secret is revealed. Tristan didn't mean to hurt her by paying her, but I think he really needed to keep iton as impersonal a level as he could.For self-protection. If he's paying her,it's a business arrangment. If he doesn't then maybe it's something else and he didn't want to deal with that. You know, from being in the Army I was around a lot of men, watching them hide from girls they were dating, trying to avoid them when they were getting too serious. I don't think Galahad and Lancelot were meaning to be cruel, just practical. Easier to get rid of a girl when shefirst starts to care for you than to drag it out and end up in an ugly situation.Of course, as a woman, the charactercould (and did) see herself as one of those girls they were talking about and it appalled her. So we saw the whole thing through her eyes. Maybe seen through the knight's eyes it might be seen as more of a kindness. We can all fall in love against our better judgement, thinking we can control the situation or not let it get to us. I think even the hardest of us can fall prey to that. Of course when you fall in love with the right guy, that's not a bad thing. When you fall for a charming bad boy that can be the worst thing in the world. Sometimes the best you can hope for is that you keep your dignity at the end of it.

**dellis:** I would be very interested in knowing what you thought didn't work. A romance would be nice, but as you said not very likely. I think love can exist without their really being the hope of it ever turning into anything though and that's what I tried to convey in this chapter. Thanks so much for reviewing and giving your thoughts!

**Shevaun:** I'm glad you're liking it. And I think she'll find peace. I had an ending in mind when I started this thing even though I've gone on a few detours that I didn't plan on I think the ending I wanted still works. Maybe I'll even get around to writing it one day! LOL

**Cardeia:** I'm so glad you liked this chapter. We've seen her feelings for Gawain and they are pretty much returned, but his is a lighthearted casual regard for her - more of a friendship, really. They do care for each other very much but it's not a "forever" type of love. How she feels for Tristan is much more serious - he is not a lighthearted man. And he doesn't particularly want to feel anything for anyone. As I explained above, his paying her is his way of trying to distance himself from the notion that this is anything more than a business arrangement. He's comfortable with expressing some emotion within that framework but not outside of it. What she gets from him is so little but it is real and intense when she does get it. That is very attractive to her and though it will doubtless end up causing her pain, and going nowhere it is a decision she made with her eyes wide open. Hair color? It could be anything you like it to be. Personally I envision her with black hair but she could be a blonde or a redhead or a brunette. Or anything in between - whatever you like:)

**Ailis-70:** It used to be taxing to write these things but it's gotten better. Sometimes it's hard because you have to put yourself in a situation and imagine how you would feel and write it down. What would happen next? How would you react to this? Of course some of it can come from real life - we've all (or most of us) experienced unrequited love or things of that nature so it's sort of drawing on what you know or can imagine. I do like her and Tristan together also, but I think her love would eventually wither away. He cares for her but doesn't have much to give and actually takes more than his share. She's okay with that for now but I think that would eventually not be enough.

**Disclaimer:** The usual - not making any money from this so please don't sue me. You can't get blood from a turnip anyway.

**Summary:** These are three random memories that I've written down that are not about the knights in particular, though they are featured in them. Just sort of a glimpse of other parts of her life.

**Warning: One of the memories involves her decision not to continue a pregnancy and might be a bit upsetting for those who have strong feelings about that. Please do not read if that may be the case.**

**Vanora **

I'd like to write down a few memories that do not solely involve the knights, for in my time here I have known many other people and experienced many other things. I'd first like to write of Vanora, and the amazing woman that I have found her to be.

She did not sell herself as most of us did. The rest of us served as barmaids in the tavern for very modest pay, modest enough that one could not live on it. The advantage to being a barmaid was access to the men who frequented the tavern. Though fully a quarter of what we earned on our back went to Strabo, we still fared better than the others did. Other women who wanted to ply their trade within the tavern had to pay a heavy fee to Strabo for the privilege. Those who hung around outside hoping to avoid turning over their earnings were often chased away and the customers they did get were not the best ones.

Thus, positions within the tavern were much sought after, and Strabo was extremely particular about having only the best looking, most pleasing young women serving his customers.

Vanora served as barmaid but she did so much more. It was Vanora and not Strabo who did most of the day-to-day work of running the tavern. She kept the inventory, was responsible for ordering enough wine at the best price, mediated disputes between the girls and had authority to make sure things ran peacefully with the customers. If they misbehaved, she would have them thrown out and Strabo would back up her decisions.

She dealt mainly with the disputes of the common rabble, for she did not have the diplomatic touch required for dealing with the higher-ranking Romans. Not that they were often much trouble, but it was known to happen from time to time. However Strabo was a master diplomat, always with an eye to his own favor, while Vanora did not care what rank a man was. If he misbehaved, he was gone.

Thus, Vanora was better paid than the rest of us, and was not forced to lie upon her back to make her living. Due to the knights' regard for her, they could always be counted on to help out if things got too rowdy. Strabo liked that, for it meant he was not forced to pay for too much extra security on big nights. And her presence ensured that the knights would remain at his tavern, and not go to another. All in all, it was to Strabo's benefit to keep Vanora around.

Indeed, the only thing that Vanora did not do was keep the books. That was entirely the province of the fat Roman. Her contribution to his books was her inventory count, but all monies were counted and kept by Strabo.

Now, I have written of the classes that Arthur made available. I am not the only one who took advantage of them, for Vanora also attended, hoping to better herself. She took very well to numbers, much better than I, as a matter of fact. She was very proficient and one day while Strabo was gone, took out his books to better learn from studying them. What she saw puzzled her for they did not seem to match up to what she knew to be the truth. He claimed losses that Vanora knew he had not suffered, and the numbers he wrote down as profit did not seem to be enough.

Vanora began to surreptitiously keep her own books. They were not exact, for not every coin passed through her hands, but her numbers appeared to show a truer picture of what was going on financially at the tavern. The most important truth was that Strabo was not paying Rome its fair share of taxes.

Now, this was a dangerous truth for Vanora to know, for refusal to pay taxes was an executable offense. She struggled with what to do with that knowledge. If handled improperly, her life could have been in very real danger, knights or no. Strabo was not without friends; high-ranking Romans for whom he procured people or things not easily gotten. Any of these friends could have made the charges disappear, along with Vanora.

While Vanora did not have a bad life at the tavern, she saw that Strabo often made life miserable for the rest of us. The mere threat of being turned out was enough to keep us in line, for our lives were much easier working there than they would otherwise be. And Strabo took full advantage of that.

It was for us that Vanora made report of Strabo's perfidy. It was for us that she risked her life and livelihood on the chance that the Roman would be arrested and taken away. It was a gamble that paid off, and a wondrous day when it did. All of us girls watched as the guards came in and his books were seized. And we all watched and jeered as he was taken away in irons, for the crime of stealing from the Pope and the Holy Roman Empire.

As for Vanora, she was given charge of running the place, as she already knew everything there was to know anyway. And her honesty and loyalty were without question. There was a Roman overseer appointed to ensure that things remained honest, but he was really more of a figurehead than anything, for I rarely saw him in the place except when he felt like a little socializing.

Things did not change all that much for us. As much as Vanora disliked it, she could not really pay us much more of a wage than we already received, for it would cut into profits too much. She had already ended the practice of taking a quarter of what we earned from the men, and that represented a fairly decent sum of money lost. So, many of us still needed to sell ourselves to make ends meet, but it was good that what we earned, we kept.

Except for our taxes, of course, which we were all very careful to pay faithfully.

**The Loss**

I was fifteen years old the first time I got pregnant. I was in shock when I first discovered it, and it weighed heavily on my mind. I would touch my belly, and wonder if it was really true, for I felt no different. Was there actually a tiny life growing inside of me? It hardly seemed possible.

From there I began to daydream about him or her. If there really were a baby – for I still wasn't convinced - what would my child look like? Would I have a son or a daughter? Would they be easy or colicky, grow up to be kind or mischievous? And names – what would I name my child? The possibilities were endless and I mulled them over in my mind.

Those early days were as full of possibility as they were full of uncertainty. The fact that the child would not have a father did not dim the joy for me. The child would be mine, and I would be theirs and together we would be all that we would need. I had always known that I wanted children, for I loved them.

I watched Vanora's children on many occasions, chased them around while she tended to business at the tavern. I was adept with them from the very first. I would carry the little one on my hip, while I bent over and comforted his older sibling who had fallen and skinned her knee. I mediated their disputes and disciplined them as surely as their mother would, for she was a role model to me and I emulated her at every opportunity. I remember to this day how Gawain laughed as I chased them around and played with them. He said that I looked like I was born to have a baby on my hip. That I looked like a real little mother.

The only thing I ever truly wanted to be.

Then slowly reality began to creep into my little fantasy world. I would lose my job at the tavern, for Strabo would not tolerate a heavy, lumbering woman who would be unable to attract customers. Pregnant women made men think of motherhood, of their wives at home, of the consequences of dallying with the pretty girls. In short, a pregnant woman was not good for business.

Where would I work? I had no one to support me, and no real skills, so I was unlikely to find employment anywhere even had I not been with child. A pregnant and unmarried woman would not be welcomed anywhere that was the least bit respectable.

Of course, after the child was born I could attempt to get my job at the tavern back; that is if carrying it had not ruined my figure. That left the problem of what to do with the babe while working. I could not possibly tote around a child along with my pitchers of wine. One of Vanora's would probably watch the babe for me as I worked, but what about my work outside of the tavern? What man wanted to lay with a woman while her infant squalled in next room? A woman whose breasts would leak milk at the first sound of that cry?

And what of the child itself – a poor fatherless bastard with no one to claim them? Bors at least took responsibility for his brood. He loved them and marriage or no; he, Vanora and their children were a family. There would be no family for me; no one to take responsibility - just me and my little one.

As the weeks went on I came to realize that having this baby was an impossibility. That my life and theirs would be much the worse for their having been born. They would be doomed to a horrible existence – the bastard child of a whore, shunned and outcast. How could I bring a child into that?

But oh, how I desperately wanted this baby that I talked to every night as I lay my hand on my stomach.

As much as it grieved me I knew I could not bring this child into the world. I knew that the midwife could take care of the matter very simply – it was done all the time. My mistake was in waiting so long – almost too long.

I still remember the vile ergot concoction that the midwife gave me. I was to drink it and then go to my rooms, for shortly thereafter the contractions would begin and the child would be expelled. She would be along the next day to make sure that it had gone well and my womb had emptied. It was to be a simple matter, but my child was rather too far along for it to be quite as easy as that. Or perhaps my child wanted to live so badly that it resolved not to go easily.

I had told no one that I was even expecting a child, never mind that I was about to end its life. So no one was with me when the agony began to rip through my body, or when the bleeding started and would not stop. I became quite frightened and envisioned dying there, alone in my bed. My screams went unheeded, for no one was there to hear me.

I was found in the hallway where I had crawled for help. I do not know who found me, only that Vanora was soon by my side, holding me and soothing my brow. Somebody, and it could only have been Gawain, carried me back to my room and placed me on my bed.

The pains were enough to drive me out of my mind, and the bleeding had not lessened.

I remember Gawain, my most loyal friend, sitting next to me, his face drawn and white as I screamed my agony. The midwife, when she finally deigned to arrive, tried to throw him out of the room, but he refused to go.

It was highly irregular that a man be present for such a thing but then Gawain was never just any man to me. I did not mind that he stayed, indeed I found his presence comforting as the midwife began her work.

She reached inside me and worked to finish the job that the ergot had begun. I felt as if I was being ripped apart and I swear I am surprised I did not break Gawain's hand with the death grip that I had upon it. This pain, if possible, was worse than the other and I must have lost consciousness for a while for I blessedly remember little of it.

I came to and realized that the pains had begun to recede and the bleeding to slow. Vanora shooed Gawain from the room while she changed the sheets and helped to clean me up. He consented to leave because it appeared I would not now die, and also because it was Vanora who demanded it. She could be quite a formidable lady for all her small size. She promised him that as soon as I was presentable she would allow him back in.

Finally, she was gone, after spending more time on me than she should have had to. Though I still had horrible cramps, my physical pain was now much less than my emotional pain.

I looked at Gawain, still wearing his blood stained shirt. A shirt stained with my blood. My baby's blood. My face contorted and I howled with the realization that my child was dead. The tiny life that I never even got to feel move within me was gone.

Gawain held me as sobs wracked my body, stroking my hair and speaking soft words of comfort.

At long last my crying slowed to the occasional sniffling shudder and left me with a horrendous headache to contend with. Though Gawain was reluctant to leave me I insisted that he go. I was not in any danger of dying and there was no purpose to be served by his wasting the rest of his night watching me as I slept. He finally left but with the caveat that he would come by later to check on me.

I settled back to sleep, and found my hands in their usual position upon my stomach. Upon my now-empty womb. I'd made a habit of speaking to my child every night, and now I spoke one last time. As tears streamed down my face I told my child how sorry I was and how much I wished things could have been different. How much I had wanted to know what they would have looked like; who they would have been.

I said everything that I thought I needed to say to my child and just before my eyes closed in sleep, I said good-bye.

**The Gift**

I would move now to a happier memory, for the writing of that one has left me feeling bereft. It's not a big memory, just a small moment that makes me laugh somewhat.

There were times when the knights would gift me with different things. Sometimes they were useful things; sometimes they were ornamental. They would often run across traders in their travels and their bags were often filled with trinkets and the like to dole out to the ladies upon their return. I still have the beautiful brush that Lancelot gifted me with one time and I think of him every time I use it.

Dagonet once presented me with a length of cloth that he had gotten from a trader. He said that he'd thought of me instantly when he saw it and had to have it for me. He was so pleased with himself - I could see it shining in his eyes as he gave it to me.

The only problem was, it was the ugliest cloth I had ever seen.

Oh, it was indeed of fine quality and maybe some lady somewhere might have enjoyed it. But the tastes of the highbrow were quite different than those of us common folk, and in our world it was just not something that I would have worn. Not without looking as if I was putting on airs.

I went to Vanora and showed her the cloth, to see what she thought about it.

"Oh, my," she said, putting her hand to her mouth. She looked at me as she spoke. "That is hideous," she said.

"What am I going to do, Vanora?" I asked her. "I would not insult Dagonet, but what can I do with this?"

"Let me think on it," said Vanora. "I may be able to come up with something."

I put the cloth to the back of my mind and the back of my closet, hoping that Dagonet would not ask me about it again. But alas, several nights later the knights had a conversation that I happened to overhear. They were all bragging about the gifts they had brought back, whose had been the best and the most well received by the various women.

Gawain thought his pendants were better than Galahad's hair ribbons. Bors thought the brooch he had bought for Vanora was far better than anything anyone else had brought back. Tristan, of course, never bought anything for anyone, and thought that all the gifts were a waste of money. Lancelot had spent his money on himself this trip out; buying himself some smart new clothing. He seemed to be of the opinion that his return was the best gift a woman could have anyway.

But they were all of the opinion that Dagonet's gift to me had been the worst.

Dagonet was defending his cloth for all he was worth, and growing angrier and angrier at the jokes and insults the other knights were hurling at him. It was rare that anyone could get Dagonet angry and they were going to milk it for all it was worth.

Finally, I stepped forward. "What is going on here?" I asked.

"Just…conversation," said Lancelot.

"About what?" I asked. "Sounds rather lively."

"Do you like your gift?" said Dagonet impulsively. "It's not…ugly…is it?" I heard the note of anxiety in his voice.

I looked at the other knights, and the smirks on their faces. My heart ached for Dag and the earnestness in which he had asked me if I had liked his gift. He'd been so proud of it, but the other knights had caused him to doubt.

By the gods, if I had to wear that ugly cloth every day for the rest of my life I would, if it would get those smirks off their faces.

"It's absolutely beautiful, Dag," I reassured him. "I'm trying to think of just the right thing to make with it. Aren't we Vanora?" I asked, for the redhead had come to the table to spend a moment with her man.

"Indeed we are," she said. "You can't waste fine cloth like that on just any old thing."

I climbed onto Dag's lap and kissed him passionately. "Take me somewhere private and I'll show you properly just how grateful I am," I murmured, making sure it was loud enough for everyone else to hear.

Dagonet threw a triumphant look at the other knights, who looked at us uncertainly. They awaited a wink or some gesture from me to show that it was a joke and I was letting them in on it, but I played it absolutely straight. And bless her heart, so did Vanora. I heard her flaying them as we left.

"You lot wouldn't know fine fabric if it walked up and bit you on the butt," she said. She also had a soft spot for Dagonet – he was very close to Bors. She would not see him hurt any more than I would.

I did, with Vanora's help, make a blouse with the cloth. It wasn't too ugly, and I wore it on occasion. I knew it was not very attractive, but it put a smile on Dagonet's face and that always warmed my heart. And every time I wore it I made sure to remark to Dagonet (and the surrounding knights) how much I loved it.

However the next time the knights returned from a long absence I got a visit from Vanora, who was somewhat less than pleased with her gift from Bors. Since Dagonet was now deemed to be a man of taste, Bors had taken his advice on a particular piece of fabric he wanted to buy for Vanora.

"Oh my," I said to Vanora, laughing at her sour face. "That's even more hideous than mine!


End file.
